


The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black

by Zakaira



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Drarry, M/M, Mpreg, Slash, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-05-13 02:56:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 55,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5692003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zakaira/pseuds/Zakaira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black has wards so ancient they have a mind of their own when it comes to who they choose to let in. One night, Draco Malfoy seeks refuge in his family home, on his mother’s side. But it isn’t only a place to sleep Draco wants and an unsuspecting Harry Potter is upstairs asleep in his bed. Mpreg. Slash. Drarry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 Author’s Note: I’ve been wanting to read a story like this; been looking for it for a while now. But, I could never find anything just right. Then it occurred to me exactly how this story should go, so I sat down to write it. The majority of the story practically wrote itself inside a week.

 

Chapters vary widely in length, but will be posted weekly. The story is from Draco’s point of view, but for the most part, the camera only turns on when Harry is there too.

 

Draco’s Pov:

* * *

 

            I was gleefully impaling myself on a nice hard shaft, when Potter started with his inane questions, “Hmm? What’s going on?” At least, that’s what I thought he asked. It was garbled with sleep, breathy with arousal, and ended with a long moan as I picked up the pace. If he was asking questions, we weren’t doing it right.

            I snapped my hips and his eyes rolled back in his head. That was a good sign, so I did it again. One of his hands got in my way, trying to touch me or something, so I grabbed it and guided it to my hip, grinding down on that pleasantly fat shaft. The other hand managed to find my hip without my help, indicating that Potter wasn’t totally braindead. I mean, I was doing all the work. How was it so hard for him to keep his hands out of the way?

            There were other inane questions too, like, “Is this a dream? I must be…oh yeah, just like that…dreaming,” and, “This is the craziest? Ooh ooh, wa, wait, slow down or I’m going to cum.” I took it as a sign to impale myself harder, really putting my weight into it, except I had to pull back when he said he was close.

            “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh oh ohhhhh…” Another bit of genius from our savior, his eyes rolling back in his head and his cyclone of black hair flinging about on the pillow as he arched and thrashed his neck. What is with him and always being about to cum? You’d think with as famous as he was and as many people who wanted to fuck him as there were, he’d be a stud in bed. I mean, his cock was an above average length and thick enough to really feel it in all the right places, but how am I supposed to adequately enjoy it if he cums prematurely?

            “You better not dare,” I warned as sternly as possible when I was this out of breath. Fucking myself was hard work and my chest was feeling the exertion.

            “Sorry!” he shouted with a cry of pleasure and I could feel him ejaculating inside of me. Fucking useless Potter. Couldn’t even wait until I got mine. I felt like bashing him in the nose.

            I sighed, lying down on his chest, trying to keep from dislodging his softening prick. Bashing him in the nose wouldn’t get his cock back up. My best bet was to check my temper and wait.

            “Is this real?” Potter asked through droopy eyes.

            “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you up as soon as your cock gets hard again,” I said, raising a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture.

            “Promise?” he asked.

            “Yes.”

            “Are we going to have sex again in the morning?”

            “It won’t take that long, but sure, we can do it in the morning too. We can do it as much as you like, if you get me off,” I reassured.

            “How do I do that?” he asked innocently.

            “Either you need to get an erection, or shut the fuck up. We’re not playing school here, Potter.”

            Up until now, I hadn’t believed the accounts of him exclusively engaging in heterosexual activities. I mean, just look at him; he’s Potter. I’ve known he was bent ever since I caught him staring at my arse in sixth year. Sure I was well aware of how long he’d been with the Weasley chick and odds were he was one of the ones who could sleep with a witch when he had to, but it was clear from the beginning that there was no passion there. He was with Weasley for show. Maybe they were friends too and he thought she was safe. Maybe he even loved her in a way. But, he definitely was never _in love_ with her. I’d know if he looked at her like that and he never had.

            The way I figured it, Potter’s previous relationship with Weasley was meant to further his political career. He’d marry her as a trophy wife; you know, someone who looked good on his arm. Then he’d find some discrete tail to get off, being extra careful to keep it out of the public eye. They’d have some little Potter babies and he’d become Minister for Magic. That’s the way I would have done it if I were him. If the thought of fucking a witch didn’t make me want to puke.

            When the announcement came that Weasley and Potter were splitting up, I naturally assumed that she decided she didn’t want to live that life. She wanted a wizard who loved her and a marriage with passion or something of the sort. I also recognized it as my chance to score with Potter, which was part of why I let myself into his place in the middle of the night.

            Potter and I hadn’t spoken in years; not since the trials and the funerals ended. When I saw him in the streets, he barely gave me a passing glance. I doubted we’d get on any better now than we had in school, so I held myself back every time I got the urge to approach him. If he wasn’t going to notice me, I wasn’t going to let him know I noticed him. That’s why I decided to start with the sex. Depending on how the morning goes, it might just have to end with the sex too. But I was getting my proper fucking before I was leaving.

            I drifted off for an hour or so, but then Potter rolled over on top of me. His weight on me was enough to break through my slumber and once I remembered where I was and what I was doing, I was instantly wide awake. His cock had slipped out and I could feel his jizz leaking out of my arse. I moved to correct the problem, but found myself pinned underneath him, so I pushed on his chest and bucked my groin up into him. His stomach was slick with my precum, left over from round one, and it felt good to move against him, so I did it again. After a few ruts, I was hard and grinding into him.

            Potter moved, freeing my hands. Then he moaned and started moving his hips in rhythm with me, his cock coming into alignment with my own. His hard cock.

            “Potter. Potter. Time to wake up, Potter,” I called.

            “Hmm?” He cracked an eye open, but then closed it again.

            “I promised to wake you when it’s time for sex. It’s time. You need to put your cock back in me now,” I instructed.

            “Kay,” he murmured, but continued to rut against me. “Like this?”

            “No, not at all like that. Pull up you moron,” I chastised.

            “Hmm? Wha?” he asked, raising himself off of me with his arms on either side of me.

            I pushed his chest and he rose further, going onto his knees between my legs. I spread my thighs and pushed off of the bed with my heels, to give him an easier angle for entry. But he was looking at me all dazed and confused with those sleepy green eyes of his, so I reached out and guided his shaft to my hole. “Push,” I instructed.

            Potter listened, for once, his cock gliding into my wet and loose hole.

            “You’re so wet for me,” he said stupidly.

            “Yes Potter, I’m wet for you. It has nothing to do with the lube from round one or that you came in me already,” I said, pushing my body up against him, to get more of his cock in my arse.

            “I’ve never had a dream like this before,” he said.

            “Of course not,” I said, hitching my legs up, pulling them first towards my chest, to work them under his arms, and then up onto his shoulders.

            Despite his protests, he seemed to know what to do from there. He grabbed my ankles and pulled, hooking them over his shoulders and eliciting a cry of pleasure from me as his cock sunk to the hilt inside of me. Then he lowered himself down onto me, forcing my thighs back to my chest, and shifting the angle until he was hitting my prostate.

            “Oh, right there! Right there, come on, fuck me right there, Potter,” I encouraged.

            He grunted, enclosing my body with his arms and snapping his hips. He started off slow, but with some encouragement fucked me harder and faster. His mushroom-shaped head seemed to have homing capabilities or something with the accuracy and precision he was hitting my prostate, quickly sending me into a state of ecstasy. And he was half asleep with his eyes closed too.

            “Always takes too long to cum the second time,” he complained in between pants of breath about half an hour in.

            I knew Potter was stupid, but that had to be the most idiotic thing I’d ever heard. There was no such thing as too long. Thirty minutes wasn’t even approaching a long fuck. It was the minimum length of time sex should ever be. It’s still in quickie territory, for Merlin’s sake. He must have serious premature ejaculation problems.

            I would have told Potter how stupid he was, but in that moment, I was too busy holding on as he was ramming into me. He was so thick and had such good aim that every thrust had me gasping, a stab of pleasure coursing through my system. My cock was oozing a stream of precum with the perfect assault on my prostate. I barely even registered the stupidity of the wizard fucking me as my head spun and my climax approached.

            I was enjoying myself so much that I didn’t clue him in or help him out. I didn’t reach down and tug one off, nor did I guide his hand to my cock. And he kept my legs pinned between our chests, over his shoulders, so I couldn’t grind my cock against him either. There was some friction against my head as he rocked into me, but not much. Not enough to make me cum.

            Potter’s endurance wasn’t what it used to be, because he couldn’t hold the position for more than half an hour. He rose up on his arms and fucked me for another ten minutes like that, but instead of letting my legs up so that my cock could rub against his firm abs, he pushed my legs back onto my chest. My muscles were cramping, so I instinctively stretched out, finding his shoulders. That lasted only a few seconds before he grunted in annoyance and pushed my legs back towards my chest and pulled on my hips, to keep my arse curved up into the air, my body bent double. I got the hint and kept put; the position was pretty brilliant prostate-wise, so I couldn’t complain.

            When he couldn’t keep up missionary any longer, he pushed and pulled my body, repositioning me on my side with only a grunt as explanation. He cuddled up behind me, pressing his body into mine, and fucking me from behind. Mentally, I gave him points for managing the shift without slipping out of me. That and he experimented with the new angle, even repositioning my legs and the bend of my spine, until I screamed out, his cock reconnecting with my prostate. Again my cock went untouched, but as long as the fucking was this good, I wasn’t going to end it.

            Maybe Potter really had never had sex with a man. It was hard to believe given how good he was with working that cock, but then he never did reach down to stroke my cock. He didn’t seem to have a clue what to do to make it go faster and I could tell he was getting frustrated with how long it was taking, because he let loose more imbecilic comments about how long this was taking. Oh, he moaned and said I felt so good too, but he was clearly tired and not used to a proper shag.

            He managed another forty minutes of good firm strokes on his side like that, before he turned us again. This time he pushed me flat onto my belly and pressed me all the way into the mattress, squatting as he thrust into me. This time my cock was trapped between my belly and the mattress, feeling every forceful thrust as he pounded me into the bed. This time I came, screaming my pleasure for all to hear, after only a minute.

            Potter fucked me through my orgasm. He was good about it too, angling his cock all of the way into me and holding it for long beats as my arse clenched and unclenched around him. He kissed me too, turning his head to nibble on my bottom lip as I gasp for breath. Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly cum any harder on that perfect shaft, it pulled most of the way out of me and rammed back in, snapping upward at the end of the stroke. That was the last thing I knew before my mind went blank with pleasure.

            When I came down from my high, that cock was still pressing into me with a slow, hard snapping rhythm. It still felt perfect. It took me several minutes to realize that it was Potter fucking me and when I did, I let out a soft moan at the thought. Strictly speaking, I was no longer aroused, but the stretching sensation was warm and pleasant, sort of like scratching an itch. I began to squirm on that cock, each spot becoming over-sensitized as he thrust into it. It still felt good, too good even, but I couldn’t take it in the same spot twice, so I squirmed and wormed, tossing my head this way and that, as I shifted my hips.

            “Cum already,” I ordered with a strained voice, not sure if I’d be able to find another spot for him to scratch if he lasted one thrust longer. Any moment now and it was going to be too much and I’d be screaming for him to stop.

            “I’m trying,” he ground out between sharp snaps of his hips.

            “Try harder,” I gasp, unable to wiggle around any further to a find a spot that wasn’t too much. Too much pleasure, too much pain.

            “You do it, you git,” he said tersely, quickly flipping over.

            My body was limp and exhausted from the sex and the orgasm, but his strong, persistent arms picked me up and sat me down on his lap. I groaned and lay my head down on his shoulder, not about to help him continue to fuck me. Merlin, I was so out of it, I barely registered what he was doing.

            I felt his hands groping my arse, prodding my ballock, pushing, looking for my hole. “What’s this?” he murmured, palpitating my sack, my poor over-sensitized testes sending jolts of intense feeling through my body.

            Instinctively I reached down and pulled his hand back.

            “Oh, is that it?” he asked, flat of his fingers pressing against my hole. Then he was pushing in, first one, then four fingers.

            I cried out with the sensation. I couldn’t tell if it was good or bad, but it was too much of whatever it was. My legs tried to crawl away from him, my boneless arms gripping his chest for leverage.

            “Oh no you don’t. Come back here. Just a minute more, I promise, Love. Come on, there you go, just lie down on my chest. You can do it,” he coaxed, his fingers pulled from me in order to grab my shoulder with one hand and my hip with the other.

            With his fingers gone from my body, the sensation ended and I fell back onto him. My mind was floating away in post-orgasmic bliss, so I didn’t notice as he pulled and tugged me back into alignment. I barely noticed the fluttering as the tips of his fingers explored my rim.

            “All better, see? Just a minute more and then you can go to sleep. You’re so wet and loose you’ll barely feel it. Okay Love? You ready for me?”

            I heard his voice, but it sounded far away. I didn’t respond.

            “Come on, you didn’t let me sleep when you wanted to cum. It’s my turn. I need to cum inside you. I need to, so bad. You feel so good. I’ll cum this time, I promise,” he continued, pressing his lips up into mine, kissing me softly in between each sentence. It was nice, his kisses; soft and sweet and gentle.

            And then I felt something that sent a jolt of pleasure through my body, but from my nipples this time. He was stroking my right nipple in soft, circular strokes. I felt them hardening, peaking into his hand and I moaned in pleasure. This was a place where the itch could still be scratched. He caught on and stroked the other one two, each arm bent out at the elbows to reach.

            “See? You can do it. That’s feels good, doesn’t it, Love?” he asked.

            “Mmm-hmm,” I agreed.

            “And my cock will feel good inside you, won’t it?” he asked another.

            I didn’t know the answer, so I let out an indifferent grunt.

            “Won’t it feel good? I can fuck you again and you can cum again,” he suggested. “You like double orgasms, don’t you?”

            I didn’t know what he was talking about. Neither did he. In hindsight I decided he thought I was a girl or something, after Pansy told me that girls are capable of double orgasms.

            “Are you ready for my cock? Do you want me to keep going?” he asked.

            In my sex-addled state, I thought he was asking if I wanted the sensation on my nipples to keep going. “Mmm-hmm,” I agreed.

            But that must’ve been the wrong thing to say, because he immediately left my nipples, both hands traveling to my arse. The fluttering sensation was back around my rim. Then it was harder, stretching out my rim. It was an itch he hadn’t scratched yet. I moaned loudly. He pushed one finger in and I squirmed. One wasn’t so bad; not too much. It was good, but not too good.

            “You’re going to ride me again, Love, alright? I just fucked you for over an hour, it’s your turn. Can you sit your arse down on my cock? You’ll like it, I promise you will,” he coaxed.

            I raised a hand to my nipple, stroking it, trying to show him what I wanted.

            “I’ll stroke your nipples again if you sit on my cock,” he bargained.

            I continued stroking my nipple lazily. It felt good and his finger stroking my arse felt good too.

            “Come on love, you can do it. Just sit your perfect round arse on my cock. It’s your turn. I fucked you, now you have to finish fucking me,” he reasoned.

            I groaned, too limp to move.

            He pulled his finger out, both hands going to my hips. “Alright, I’m going to help you. Here, just get into position.” He pushed and tugged, until he had me where he wanted me. “There you go.” One hand left my hip for a moment and I felt something pressing into me. Something broad and wide; not a finger this time.

            I jumped, limbs scrambling to get away, but two strong hands were on my hips, forcing me down. “Too much,” I complained.

            “Shhsh. You can do it. You did it before, didn’t you? All you have to do is start riding me again and I’ll stroke your nipples. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked, hands tight against the top of my pelvic bone, gripping me hard.

            I groaned in protest, arms and legs failing me. I managed to get up into a sitting position, but that just forced the cock further into me. I was so sensitive. It was good, but too good, too soon. I arched my back, grabbing behind me, trying to find a position that would be alright. My noodle like legs bucked up in a spasm, as I fell backwards. I caught myself on my arms in sort of a reverse pushup, but with my knees bent and my feet on either side of his body.

            “Ah, yeah, Love, there you go. You can do it like that. This is perfect,” he said, repositioning his hands on my hips to accommodate the new position.

            “Ughhh.” I struggled to push myself up, trying to get vertical again, so I could push off of him. But I could only go so far with his hands on me like they were. The movement sent jolts of sensation through my body and I couldn’t keep going. I fell backwards again, back arching as my hand failed to stop my fall this time. It was too much.

            “That’s good, you’re doing fine, just try again,” he urged, tugging on my hips.

            I tried to get up one more time and fell back one more time. This time I didn’t move at his urging. I just twisted to my side and lay there.

            “Ohhhh, yeah. You feel so good,” Potter moaned as I turned. “Alright, you can lie there, but try turning to the other side.”

            I did, thrashing from side to side for a minute, trying to get the angle inside me just right to relieve the intensity of it all. But it didn’t work. Thrashing made it worse and I tried to climb up off of him again.

            “Alright, come back here. Just lay on my chest this time, alright?” he suggested as he pulled me up and then down, onto his chest.

            He was still in me. His hands were still on my hips. He nudged my legs and told me to pull them up underneath me. I did, squatting over his lap, still impaled. I wondered then why I couldn’t get off this cock. It was too long or too wide or something. Maybe Potter had too much practice riding a broom to get bucked off. Obviously I’d miscalculated earlier when I thought he wasn’t skilled at sex. He could be when he wanted to. He wanted it now.

            “Is that better?” he asked, gently thrusting his hips up into me.

            “Ugh,” I said non-committedly.

            “You can stay lying there, just like that. You feel so good. Hot and tight,” he said, gently rolling his hips with each word.

            I thought I felt dry. The cum and lube from earlier had all but been used up, thick and sticky and pulling on the cock as it thrust in and out.

            “Mmm-hmm,” I agreed, because after the ordeal of changing position, this gentle fucking didn’t seem so bad. It was sort of soothing. And without more lube, I instinctively knew I needed to stay put, or he would hurt me.

            “Good. I’m glad we’ve settled that.”

            “Mmm.”

            “If you promise to stay put this time, I’ll stroke your nipples again. Would you like that?”

            “Mmm-hmm,” I agreed, too tired to fight him on it. My stomach was sort of spasming with his thrusts, the muscles in my legs randomly jerking out or contracting in; the sensation had left my arse and traveled to my body. It felt like all of the tension in my bones was being released, distracting me from how over-sensitized I was.

            And then the pressure was gone from my left hip and the delicious stroking of my left nipple was back. It felt good and I moaned, my arse clenching tight around the thick pole.

            “You like that, hmm?” he asked and I moaned, to let him know that I did. He kept stroking. “See, all you have to do is stay put and I’ll make you feel good. You can cum on my cock again anytime you want. You feel it, inside you?”

            I felt it to the roots of my hair and the tips of my toes. It was in me, hard and hot and rolling in a gentle rhythm. It was stroking my nipple with one hand and my back with the other. It was cupping my arse and pulling me down, impaling me, splitting me open with its length. “Too big,” I complained.

            “No, it’s just right. You’re doing just fine. You’re going to come again and then you’ll feel good. I can see your body twitching; that’s a good sign. You’ll be coming on my cock again in no time.”

            He showed no sign of stopping and it occurred to me that there was a big puddle of lubrication smeared all over my stomach. I reached down, scooped up some of my cum, and reapplied it to my arse.

            “What are you doing?” he asked. I said nothing, figuring he’d put two and two together when his cock slid in easier. “Oh, good job. Smart thinking, Love.”

            I went back for more, repeating it until I had as much lubrication in the right area as I could get. That eased a lot of the intensity, shifting me firmly back into the feeling good range.

            “You feel nice and wet again. I guess that’s how it works with you, Love?” he asked, another indication that this was his first time with a man. Still, he should have at least known that he had to add lube; he really was stupid sometimes.

            “Mmm-hmmm,” I answered, as sarcastically as I could manage after being fucked for an hour and forty-five minutes straight.

            “You ready to ride me now?” he asked, reaching a second hand up to my other nipple. “I’ll do both nipples if you ride me.”

            My arse clenched in pleasure, my dick stiffening a bit, but was not anywhere near ready to regain a proper erection.

            “Come on, you can do it,” he urged, stilling his hips to give me a chance to get up.

            When I moved, his hands were there on my chest, supporting my weight. I sat most of the way up, his cock plunged in to the hilt, his palms flat against my chest, and moaned as the tips of his fingers brushed against my nipples in a circular motion.

            “There you go. Ride me,” he insisted and I complied.

            The muscles in my abs undulated as my hips rolled forward and backward, my spine arching in rhythm. I didn’t move much or fast, just luxuriating in the feel of his fingers on my nipples and his cock in my arse. I was too tired to even attempt an up and down motion, or even a proper back and forth, so I stuck to rolling my hips and my little movements.

            “Oh yeah, just like that, oh, oh oh…” And then Potter stopped stroking my nipples, hands grabbing my hips as his hips snapped up. Suddenly he was fucking me hard and sharp and fast from underneath me, in an erratic rhythm that bespoke of how close he was.

            My muscles spasmmed all over my body, from my neck to my toes, as I was forcefully impaled. My eyes were rolling back in my head, my hands scrambling for purchase, my legs kicking out, trying to climb off, but I couldn’t climb off. My movement was too uncoordinated. I rose a couple of inches off of the spurting cock and then Potter’s hands were pulling me back down and his hips were snapping back up. I got further up; I could feel the base of his head stretching the skin above my rim, almost to the point where he’d pop out if I moved. Then I slipped and fell back down, hot, wet cum dripping out and down my arse, to my thigh. He pulled my hips down further, rolling up into me and hitting my prostate in the process. My over-sensitized prostate that had already taken too much abuse tonight from that blasted cock.

            My arse muscles clenched down, trying to force the intrusion out. I went limp, stomach too sore to stand to struggle any longer, letting my forearms fall to his chest and my head fall to my hands. I pushed with my arse, unable to stop myself from doing it. It made the feel of his cock so all-encompassing that it blocked out the pain in my abs. It also made Potter stop fucking me. He just held onto my hips and let his jizz spill out into me, eyes rolling back in his head and neck arching.

            When he finally finished and came back to his senses, he moved his hands from my hips to my back, holding me tightly to his chest and he kissed my lips softly. “Oh Love, you were so good. I’ve never felt something like that. What are you doing, exactly?” Present tense, because I was still doing it.

            I squirmed. I wanted him out, but he was holding me too tight to move. Then he was softening, the cock inside me going away slowly. It was then that I realized what I was doing and forced myself to stop. I wanted him in me; that was why I’d come here tonight. Pushing his seed out would ruin everything. I switched to pulling him in, willing with whatever wandless magic I possessed for him to stay inside me, for his semen to stay in me, for it to take. I wanted this. And there was no telling if I’d ever get this chance again.

            “I never knew you were so perfect, Love. I always thought…but tonight…two hours inside you. I’ve never been inside a man before, but it was sort of the same…just better. So much better. If I’d known it’d be this good…” Potter babbled.

            “Shut up and go to sleep,” I ordered. We weren’t dating, so it wasn’t my job to listen to his drivel. It was all post-coital sappiness, which he’d take back in the morning, so I tried not to let it warm my heart. I did my best to let it go in one ear and out the other. Too bad that was always so hard with Potter. He had a way of getting under my skin. Now it seemed he was trying to worm his way into my heart. I didn’t want him there, I just wanted his seed to take. At least, that’s what I told myself.

            “Alright. You’re tired, hmmm? I fucked you so good you can barely move, hmmm?” he continued. I pressed a finger to his lips to shut him up. Who knew he was such a blabber.

            “Yeah, I’m exhausted too. Do me a favor and don’t wake me up for another round until morning, Love.” And then he pressed one last kiss to my lips and closed his eyes.

            I smiled and closed my eyes as we drifted off to sleep together.

 

* * *

 

            Author’s Note: Next chapter we’ll find out what’s going on. Harry will get key answers to important questions, like what is Draco doing in his bed and how did Draco get in his house.

Your reviews are greatly appreciated. Despite having most of the story worked out, there are still bits that need writing and plots that need tweaking. Your input is vital for that process.


	2. Chapter 2

            In the morning, I woke up with every muscle in my body hurting. I was on my stomach, my arse out in the air, cheeks spread by Potter’s hands. His fingers were in my hole, exploring, like he’d never seen an arsehole before. My rim was still loose from the fucking the night before and sore. I looked to the clock by the bed and saw that it’d only been three hours since we’d gone to sleep. I groaned, wishing he would’ve let me sleep; the sun was barely up for Merlin’s sake.

            “So you just put the penis in here, and it works mostly the same?” Potter asked me, finger crocking inside of me, finding my abused prostate, as usual. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he ever miss his mark?

            “No, you idiot, you need lube,” I said, pulling away from him. Yes, there was still semen inside me that made his finger slide in and out alright, but that wasn’t the real problem. The real problem was that between the two rounds, he’d spent about two hours fucking my brains out. I wasn’t prepared for a round three anytime soon.

            “Oh, sorry. Am I hurting you?” he asked, pulling the one finger out.

            “Yes. Let me sleep,” I said. He pushed my arse cheeks back together, as if they wouldn’t go back on their own, and then cupped them. “And stop touching me.”

            “Oh, sorry,” he repeated, pulling his hands back like they’d been burned. There was a moment of silence when he didn’t move. “What are you doing in my bed, Malfoy?”

            “Sleeping,” I grumbled into the pillow.

            “Yes, but how did you get in my house? How did you get in my bed? How did you get on my cock? Why were we having sex? I don’t remember anything before you were riding me. And you promised me we could fuck in the morning, so I thought it’d be alright when I woke up and saw you there,” he rambled.

            I turned on my side, but that was a bad move, because it made my insides light up with pain. Potter’s hand, saint that he was, reached out to help me reposition myself.

            “Oh man, you’re really hurt, aren’t you? Merlin, did I do that? I’m so sorry. I’ve never done it with a bloke before, I didn’t know I’d hurt you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

            “Please shut the fuck up,” I ground out as levelly as I possibly could in that moment. “You didn’t really hurt me, you just sort of overfucked me, if you must know.”

            “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know…”

            “Shut up,” I repeated.

            “Alright, sorry, I’ll just let you sleep it off? You had too much, but you’ll be alright with some rest, yeah?” he asked, sounding all concerned.

            “Yes,” I bit out, wanting to force him to shut up, but unable to move.

            Potter dithered around with his blanket, tucking me into his bed. Then he left the room, telling me I could find him…somewhere in the house; I wasn’t really paying attention to his blather at that point. I went back to sleep, too warm, but too sore to kick his blankets off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short chapter and no real answers, although it does show something of Harry’s state of mind. Draco will not be able to manipulate the situation to avoid answering Harry’s questions forever. Next chapter he will be forced to give a version of what happened. Which version he will tell is the question…


	3. Chapter 3

            The next time I woke, a good seven hours later, it was on my own, without any help from Potter. But I barely had my eyes open, before the door creaked open and he was back, sheepishly ducking his head.

            “I set an alarm to alert me when you woke. Um, er, would you like some tea? I asked my elf to make you some,” he said, standing by the door.

            “Sure,” I croaked out groggily.

            “Er, I could have him make you some coffee, if you prefer.”

            “Tea’s fine.” Actually pumpkin juice would be preferable, but that was a bit presumptuous, given that he hadn’t invited me in.

            “Good.” He seemed like he was going to continue blathering on about something, but then the elf popped up with my tea. “Oh, Kreacher, thank you. Just put it on the bedside table. That’s good. You can go.”

            The elf did as told, depositing a stemming hot cup of Earl Grey within my reach, along with a side of everything anyone has ever in the history of the world, added to tea. Sugar, honey, three milk-based substances of differing varieties, lemon, biscuits, etcetera. You get the picture. I took the cup, added what I guessed to be cream, and blew.

            “Oh, is it too hot? I could get Kreacher to get you an ice cube. That always does the trick for me,” Potter rambled nervously.

            “This is fine,” I said.

            “Okay.” There was a long pause of silence, in which he was probably admiring his luck to have ended up with such a sex-god like me in his bed. I was bloody gorgeous and he knew it. I could tell by the way he looked at me with hunger in his eyes and the way he licked his lips. Finally, he asked, “Would you mind telling me how this all happened?”

            “Would you mind telling me why you’re looking at me like you want to rip my clothes off and have sex with me right here?” I asked in return. The best defense was a good offense. I wasn’t even wearing any clothes, still covered in only his blanket, but he got the point.

            “I’m not!”

            “Are so. And last night you weren’t exactly acting like there was a problem, but now you’re nonstop with the questions.”

            “Well I’d just like to know what happened! Why were you in my bed?”

            “Why didn’t you object?”

            “Because I liked it!” he blurted out.

            “There you go,” I said, as if I’d answered something.

            “You were in my bed, because I liked it?” he asked skeptically.

            “No, because _I_ liked it,” I admitted.

            “But you can’t just go around having sex with whoever you want, Malfoy! There are…er, um…”

            “What?” I asked, staring at him, like he made even less sense than he did.

            “Ah… How did we end up…” he motioned between us, “doing, er, what we…did?” he asked.

            I decided then it would be fun to take the piss out of him. “Well Potter, you see I saw your hard penis just standing there all alone and decided to sit on it.”

            “You can’t just go around sitting on people’s penises!” he replied indignantly.

            “And you shouldn’t just leave erect penises lying all over the place! What do you expect me to do? Pretend I don’t see it standing at attention!?!” I asked indignantly, implying that such a scenario would be his fault.

            “No! Yes! Um, er, I don’t know!”

            “But you did enjoy it?” I pressed, turning the tables on him. When he stared at me incredulously without answering, I continued, “You liked having sex with me, didn’t you? You were enjoying yourself just as much as I was. Admit it!”

            “Fine, yes, I admit it!”

            “Good, now that the question and answer portion of our little chat has been concluded, I can drink my tea.” I sipped my tea. Too hot.

            “What? Wait, no. You didn’t answer my questions,” he objected.

            I lowered my mug, raising an eyebrow at him. “What else is there, Potter?”

            “Could you at least tell me how you got in my house? I have a Fidelius charm on the place and if it’s been compromised, I need to know, in order to keep the reporters out. But, it might not be, because, er, someone could have passed along the secret to you?” it came out like a question.

            “No,” I said and blew on my tea some more.

            “No, it wasn’t compromised? Or no, no one told you? Or no, you won’t tell me?”

            “The first two.” I raised my cup and took a nice long sip.

            “I don’t understand.” He stared me in the eyes, the green of his magnified by his stupid glasses.

            “No, no one gave me the secret. No, your Fidelius isn’t compromised. I’m sure it’s intact.”

            “Then how’d you get in?” he asked, wide eyed and confused. His green eyes blinked behind his spectacles. He hadn’t been wearing the glasses last night; he looked a right side better without them. I’d have to insist on him taking them off for sex.

            “How does anyone get in anywhere?” I asked rhetorically. “You let me in. The house let me in. I walked up, opened the door, and walked inside.”

            “I don’t remember that.”

            “Oh, well you were probably asleep when you let me in.” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and I worried I might be bordering on admitting to something criminal. “I came straight up here and woke you up though, to make sure you knew you’d done it. I didn’t want you waking up and thinking I’d broken in.”

            “I don’t remember that.”

            “Well it happened.”

            “So, um, how did I let you past the Fidelius, if I was up here asleep at the time?”

            “I was never locked out by the Fidelius; I’m a Black and this is the Black family estate. Blacks can’t be locked out that way,” I revealed, finally giving him a piece of what he wanted to know. Then I drank deeply from the mug.

            “So you were never locked out? That can’t be right. If Bellatrix had been able to get in during the war, she would’ve. She’s just as much of a Black as you are, if not more. She was born a Black.”

            “Could I see your glasses?” I asked, instead of answering.

            “What? Why?”

            “Just hand them here.” I held out my hand, waiting.

            He slowly took the offensive eyewear off and placed them carefully in my hand. The moment he retracted his hand, I flung the glasses in the rubbish bin. “Ah, much better,” I said.

            “What the fuck, Malfoy!?!”

            While Potter was summoning his glasses and putting the stupid things back on, I decided to answer his previous question, figuring it would distract him from any negative feelings he might have towards me for attempting to correct his fashion. “We were all locked out during the war. We tried to get in, all of us. The Dark Lord made me try that summer and the house wouldn’t let me in. It let my mother in after you let that one Death Eater in and fled, but I was already away at school, so I didn’t try again. This is the first time I’ve tried since then and it was wide open,” I explained. For the good of the family, the thing to do was inform the new head of the basic rules for operating the family house. But since it was Potter, no one had bothered, even after it became feasible to do so.

            “Your mum came in my house during the war after we escaped the Ministry?” the speccy git asked.

            “Yes, she came to protect Black family property, otherwise, that Death Eater would have torn the place up. She took care of Kreacher, verified that everyone was gone, prepared the house to be vacant over the winter, and that sort of thing. She didn’t steal anything. If anything was missing, it was whichever Death Eater you let in, before Mother got in,” I insisted. Okay, maybe she’d brought a bit of evidence back to the Dark Lord, but Potter didn’t need to know that.

            “Alright, whatever.” Potter closed his eyes in thought, refocusing before he asked, “Why didn’t Bellatrix trash the place? She hated me.”

            “My aunt was never allowed in. The house wouldn’t let her in, only my mother.”

            “But how were you all locked out in the first place? And how were you let back in?” he asked.

            “My cousin Sirius locked us out when he was on the run. When he transferred the house to you, you locked us out too. Then you must’ve decided that my mother and I were alright, because you let us back in.”

            “How did I do that? I wasn’t aware of doing anything like that. I thought the Fidelius was keeping you out,” he said.

            At this point I was regretting my stunt with his glasses, because I was stuck answering his inane questions and he didn’t look any better for it. “It’s how the magic of the house works. It’s an old family house; it’s tied to the Black family. My cousin made you head of the Black family when he died, but he couldn’t stop the rest of us from still belonging to the family. Even if you disown someone, the family magic still recognizes blood; that’s why my cousin was able to inherit this house in the first place. If disowning anyone really meant anything, he wouldn’t have gotten the house over my mother.”

            Potter interrupted me then. “Alright, I can’t kick you out of the family, so how did I stop you from coming inside?”

            “I was getting to that,” I said irritated. I took an extra-long sip of my tea, to make him wait, since he’d interrupted. “So when Sirius died, you became the head of the family. The head of the family gets to make all decisions for the family, as far as the family magic is concerned, including who is and who is not allowed to live in the family home. You didn’t want us living here, so the house didn’t let us live here. You didn’t want us visiting, so the house didn’t let us visit. When you decided that my mother and I could visit, the door unlocked. Sorry for coming so late in the night; I didn’t mean to bother you.”

            “What did you mean, precisely?” he asked pointedly, eyeing my still naked body covered only in his blanket. There was a good chance that the sight of me would distract him from doing something stupid, like kicking me out, so I hadn’t even moved towards my clothes. I was that good looking.

            “Originally I just came to ask if I could stay here for a while.”

            “Why?”

            “Because my mother is being all annoying about how I need to get married, settle down, and give her grandchildren. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I left the Manor. I considered what family I had and decided that given that you are the only head of family young enough not to have a heart attack from being woken up in the night, I choose you. I figured if you said no, I’d try one of my grandparents, but you didn’t say no,” I said. It was the truth; at no point so far had he told me no or said that I couldn’t stay.

            “Yeah, I don’t remember that,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

            “What do you remember?” I hedged.

            He blushed bright red and whispered, “Sex.”

            “Do you remember how many times we had sex?”

            “Two,” he blurted out, then covered his mouth with his hand, like he was shy or something. Maybe he had a hang-up about sex.

            “So you remember both times…I’m not really getting it. There wasn’t much before the first time. If you remember that, how can you not remember when I woke you up?”

            He thought about it for a good five minutes before answering, “I remember waking up the first time and you were already naked and on top of me. We were already, you know…” He made a gesture with his hands that indicated that I should be able to fill in the rest of his sentence.

            “We were already what?”

            “Having _sex_ ,” he whispered.

            “Oh…okay…” I looked down at my tea cup, to give him time to say something about this. Then I thought better of it and added, “You were awake when we started. I don’t know why you don’t remember agreeing to have sex with me.”

            “How did something like that even come up?” he asked perplexed, taking his glasses off and wiping them with his shirt.

            He wasn’t looking at me; that was a good sign. “I asked.” His head snapped up to look at me and he hastily shoved his glasses back on. I continued, “I was upset about the argument I’d had with my mother and horny, so when you said I could stay, I asked if I could stay in your bed. In your bed, naked, with your cock up my arse. Or something to that affect. You,” I pointed an accusing finger at him, “you said, ‘Alright.’ That’s a quote, I asked for sex and Harry Potter said, ‘Alright.’”

            “I don’t remember that…” he whispered.

            “Do you remember the second time you agreed to sex, or do you have temporary amnesia then too?” I asked skeptically.

            “No, um, I remember, sort of. You just woke me up and said it was time for sex and I said alright.”

            “Which is exactly what you said the first time I proposed it! So, even if you allegedly can’t remember it, you can see how you’d respond. And, I’d like to point out that you woke me up this morning with your finger in my arse, so you’re hardly one to talk about being woke up for sex. At least I waited until you were hard to try to fuck you.” My tone was accusing, to put him on the defensive.

            “Hard,” he smacked himself square in the face with his palm. “Oh, of course! That’s what I forgot!” He grumbled to himself about his stupidity for a good ten minutes and I let him. He’d said a lot of stupid things since I entered this house.     He’d even put on those stupid glasses. Eventually he continued, “Ah, er, sorry, I, um, er, didn’t mean to hurt you, but I didn’t know what I was doing wrong. I’m so sorry. Are you okay? I could take you to St. Mungo’s if you’re hurt. It’s not too far.”

            “I’m not going into St. Mungo’s and explaining to an audience that you fucked me too much.”

            “I fucked you too much? Oh shite, I’m sooo sorry.”

            “Could you stop with the apologizing? It’s freaking annoying,” I bit out.

            “Uh, sorry, wait, opps. Okay, I’ll stop.”

            “Thank you.”

            “It would be helpful…if maybe…you could explain to me…how exactly…I, er, messed up?” he hedged. At least he’d gotten past how I got in the house and how we’d started having sex, another good sign.

            I thought about it for a minute and decided to take mercy on him. “Okay, so the part you probably hurt me was after I came and wanted to stop, but you forced me to keep going. The anal canal isn’t meant for sex the way a vagina is. It needs time to heal, before it can go again.”

            “Stupid, stupid, Harry. I shouldn’t’ve done a round two! It’d only been, what, a couple of hours? Since round one? And that wasn’t enough time for you to heal, was it?”  
            “Round one didn’t count, because you blew your load prematurely. The point you should’ve stopped, was after I blew mine. I probably would still be sore today, but good to go by tonight.”

            “You want to have sex with me again tonight?” he asked, eyes wide with excitement.

            “Not anymore. I need a few days.”

            “But you still want to do it again, right? With me?”

            “Yes, with you.” I left it unsaid that those glasses had to come off first. “Give me a few days though.” He nodded and was about to say something, so I added, “And no more questions about gay sex. You’re gay. I’m gay. We fucked. But, I’m not your father. It’s not my job to explain the birds and the bees. If you need a class or something, don’t come looking to me. I did my bit. Use lube, stop when I cum, that’s all you really need to know.”

            He opened his mouth, but then closed it. Then he did it again. Finally he nodded and asked if he could get me anything. I let him dote on me, staying in his bed all day while he served me. He got annoyed with me several times, but whenever he did, I made a move to get up, demonstrating how horribly injured I was, even though it wasn’t that bad. Then he’d start his inane apologies again and go back to waiting on me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there are some answers. Can I get a show of hands on how many of you believe Draco’s version of how it happened and how many don’t think he told the whole truth? Also, does anyone get the feeling that sometimes there is a disconnect between the story as told by Draco and what actually happened?


	4. Chapter 4

            “Tell me about the night you came,” Potter requested, voice relaxed in that post-coital way, cuddling me from behind. It was two days later and we’d finally gotten around to round three.

            He’d spent a good hour playing with my cock, learning how I liked to be touched. I’d even let him look at it for half a minute with his glasses on, before enforcing my no glasses in bed rule. Only when he’d made me cum and then stroked me back to life, had he fucked me for the third time. He’d made sure to start by checking the status of my cock, asking his inane questions, like, “Is this fully hard?” and, “Are you ready?” He needed his reassurances to get going.

            “I already told you, or have you forgotten again?” I asked, enjoying the feel of my well-fucked arse pressed into his groin and his strong arms wrapped around me as we spooned. Even his warm breath was pleasant against the back of my neck. His jizz was leaking out of me, my hole too loose from sex to clinch it in, although I tried.

            “I remember you told me, but tell me again. Tell it like a story.”

            “A story?”

            “Yeah, a story. Like what did you say to wake me? Did you do anything, like slap me or shake my shoulder?” he pressed.

            “Seriously?”

            “Yeah, seriously. I don’t remember how the most brilliant night of my life began. Paint me a picture, share it with me.”

            “Okay,” I agreed. “To set the scene, I was wearing a set of dress robes that hugged my body in all the right places, with no shirt underneath. It gave an unobstructed view of my glorious pecs and showed the beginnings of my very enticing happy trail. In the back it was cut just perfectly to showcase my arse. And of course my hair was perfect, as usual.” As I spoke, I called attention to each body part.

            Potter was with me at first, but for some reason I lost him on the hair. I could tell because he let out a derisive short. “Stick to the facts,” he requested.

            “Those are the facts. I’m building up to why you were so eager to talk me into your bed.”

            “I talked you into my bed, now, did I?” he asked sarcastically.

            I waved a hand dismissively. “Well you didn’t talk me out of it.”

            “Alright, point taken.”

            “Back to my little story. To sum it up, I was gorgeous. Still am.” He gave me a skeptical look and instead of forcing him to admit how attracted he was to me, I decided to move on. “So I said something like, ‘Potter! Wake up Potter! Wake up!’ and you said something testifying to your intellect, like, ‘Huh?’” I waited to see how he’d take the insult, craning my neck to look at him.

            He smiled and said, “Continue, please. This is getting good.”

            I straightened my neck. “You weren’t waking up, so I climbed into your bed, with my clothes on, mind you. I straddled you to get in your face and shook your shoulder and told you to wake up a few more times. You groaned a bit. Then,” I paused, craning my neck again to observe the expectant look on his face. He’d snuck his glasses on while I wasn’t looking, so I carefully pulled them off and placed them back on the bedside table. “Then your eyes opened and you asked, ‘Malfoy? What are you doing here?’ Only, it was all garbled when you asked it. If it weren’t for my proficiency in troll, I would’ve never understood you.”

            He smiled again. “And what was your answer?”

            I turned over in his arms, so that I wouldn’t have to keep hurting my neck. I threw my leg over his hip and snuggled into him to get comfortable. Then I answered, “’I came for sex. Is it alright if I fuck myself on your cock?’”

            “You didn’t really say that!” He was reaching for his glasses, again.  
            I reached a hand out, placing it on top of his, to stop him. “We’re in bed. You know the rule: I like to look in your eyes when we’re in bed.”

            “Yes, but I’d like to see you. That is sort of difficult without my glasses,” he protested. Apparently his eagerness to comply with my rule was limited to when we were engaged in sexual activity.

            “Fine, but you make one sexual advance and they go off,” I warned.

            He nodded and slipped the frames that didn’t suit him on. “Alright, just back to our story. Did you really say that?” he asked again.

            “I did, or something to that effect.”

            “Just like that? No, can I spend the night?” he pressed.

            “Can I spend the night on your cock, maybe. No, I remember using the words fuck and sex. I was very clear about my intentions,” I insisted seriously.

            “Alright. And what did I say?”

            “What do you think you said?” I asked.

            “Let’s see, something like, ‘What in the world? Merlin, what are you doing here? Malfoy, why are in my bed? Did you just ask what I think you did? This must be a dream, because there is no way the Draco Malfoy I know is in my bed, asking me for sex.’”

            I studied his face and asked, “Is that how you normally respond when someone asks you for a lay?”

            “Normally people don’t turn up in my bed. Normally they’re drunk in the pub and I tell them to piss off.”

            “Uh-huh.” My tone was sarcastic.

            “It’s true! You’re the first bloke I’ve ever been with and I’ve only been with three women.”

            “Two of them being those two birds who were in the papers after your break-up with Weasley?”

            He blushed. “They were mistakes.”

            “Obviously. They weren’t me.”

            He didn’t say anything, but his face spoke volumes, practically admitting that I was on to something.

            “You’ve fantasized about me before, haven’t you? That’s why you weren’t surprised when I was in your bed, isn’t it?”

            “No,” he protested weakly.

            “It is! That’s why the moment I asked for sex, you pulled your pants down and presented me with your cock!”

            “That’s not what happened, is it?” He looked mortified.

            “Practically.”

            “Just tell me what really happened? Please?”

            “Okay, fine. I woke you up, asked for sex, and help me out here, what have you answered every other time I’ve woken you up for sex?” I prodded, wanting him to acknowledge that even if he couldn’t remember it, it was still the type of thing he said.

            “Yeah, alright?”

            “Exactly. You said, ‘Yeah, alright,’ and I said, ‘Take off your clothes.’ Then I got up to take my clothes off and when I was lubed up and ready to go, you were lying on your bed naked, hard cock waiting for me. Your eyes were closed again, but how was I to know you’d gone back to sleep? It’d only been half a minute!”

            “When did you realize I was asleep again?” he asked.

            “Afterwards, when you told me you didn’t remember anything before _waking up_ with me on top of you.”

            “You didn’t realize I was out of it before that? I remember trying to ask you how you got on my cock and you shushed me.”

            “You did not ask me that! You asked and I quote, ‘What’s going on?’ That’s what you asked, not, ‘Why are we having sex?’ Not, ‘Please stop, my savior cock is too good for your sweet pureblood arse.’ Not, ‘No, don’t, you’re raping me, I don’t like sex, especially not with hot fit blokes that are just my type and who I’ve been crushing on for years.’ ‘What’s going on?’ That was _it_ ,” I stressed defensively.

            “Alright, but what did you think I was asking? If you didn’t know I’d been asleep, that is?”

            My tone started off defensive, again. “I thought you were a virgin when it came to anal sex. I thought you were confused, because I was a bloke and you were inside my arse.” I drawled the next sentence, “There was a point when you seemed to be looking for my vagina and confused over the existence of my ballocks…”

            He blushed and ducked his head into my chest, horrid glasses pressing into my skin. “That didn’t happen until later.”

            “Yes, well from the beginning, you seemed confused by the whole process of sex, like you’d never had anyone touch your cock before. Excuse me for not feeling like having the talk with you in the middle of riding you. For the record, Potter, this thing between your legs is your cock. It feels good when I touch it. When it grows nice and big, I shove it up my arse, in a process I call, ‘ _Sex_.’ It’s not something you should do with other people, only me, or they’ll think you’re a pervert.”

            He threw a pillow at me. I grabbed his limp cock. He grabbed my arse cheeks.

            “Tomorrow,” I said, taking his glasses off and offering only a pointed look as explanation. He knew the rules and he’d just broken them, even if I had started it.

            “Tomorrow,” he agreed and kissed me, hard.

            We kissed for a minute. When we broke apart, I asked, “And just what did you think was happening, since you claim not to remember? You seemed awfully eager for someone who was being taken advantage of? Defiled, or deflowered even?” I asked with a smirk.

            “I thought it was a dream. A dream come true.”

            He sounded like he was taking the piss, so I grabbed that pillow and threw it back at him.

            “No, I’m serious, Draco. I’ve dreamt about being with you before. I thought it was like that, only it was better.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “It’s true!”

            “And you didn’t try to stop me, because why?” I prodded.

            “Because I didn’t want it to stop! I never, ever want it to stop. It was the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he declared and kissed me again. That was a good answer. I didn’t think his savior brain was capable of coming up with such a good answer, but there you have it: it did. That was good news for any potential offspring we might have: Potter brains were usable, they just needed to be educated properly.

            I began to move against him as we kissed, lining up our hard cocks and rutting.

            He broke his lips away, gasping for air. “I thought you said not until tomorrow?”

            While he was busy talking, I aimed a bit of wandless lube at my cock. Not too much mind, or else he wouldn’t believe it was precum, but just enough.

            “Sex tomorrow, but we can still do this right now.” I pulled his hips to mine, and rolled my hips into him.

            He groaned, his eyes going back into his head; good thing his glasses were off, or it wouldn’t ruined my view. I paused for him to give in, he nodded, and I rolled my hips into him again.

            “You can move too,” I encouraged.

            He rocked his hips back and forth.

            “Just like that. Good,” I said, grinding against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone think Harry is clever enough to deliberately wait until after sex when Draco’s tongue is loosen to try to get more details?
> 
> By the way, this is the only lovey-dovey chapter before the problems start.
> 
> Also, you all have given me very wonderful and useful feedback, which I would like to take this moment to thank you all for! There are a lot of subtleties in this story and to keep that going and flesh out the next chapter, it really helps to know how it all was received. You readers are great and to encourage you all to continue to be great, I propose the following challenge: I have a few paragraphs for the chapter after next, for a half chapter, like chapter 2. The main theme will be Draco living in the house for about a month and how he brushes off/offends Harry’s friends who stop by. I specifically have some snide exchanged between Draco and Ron. So leave me some inspiration on the subject, and it if I get inspired, the mini-chapter will grow into a full-fledged chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

            Ronald Weasley, face an angry red and ugly as a troll’s, was glowering down at me after lobbing a number of very nice compliments at me, such as “pureblood,” “vain,” “Slytherin,” “selfish,” “rich,” and “egotistical.” I’d been so surprised that he knew such long words that I barely registered the part where he implied I was sexual promiscuous. Oh the hazards of living at Grimmauld Place these days.

            “Thank you. Good talk. I’ll just be going, shall I?” I responded, eyeing the door to my room down the hallway. He was blocking my path, so my only choices were to squeeze past him or abandon my idea of going to my room. I couldn’t stay outside my room right now, because he and Granger had invaded the house, again, this time called over to see Potter’s new glasses. I’d have to go out to avoid them, but then I wasn’t fully dressed. I was minus my shoes and cloak, which were downstairs by the front door, but also my socks. I couldn’t go out in my slippers and I couldn’t put on my shoes without socks. So I needed access to my room either way, whether staying or going. And I was not going to risk calling that elf and have him damaging my expensive socks.

            “No, I want to talk with you, Malfoy!” Weasley growled at me, face mottled. He ought to be down in the drawing room, admiring Potter’s new glasses and how much better Potter looked in them, but instead he was bothering me.

            Just that morning and through no fault of my own, Potter’s old glasses met with an accidental bombardment charm at the end of my wand. He’d been unreasonably upset with me when he woke up and discovered this, but out of the kindness of my own heart, I’d generously escorted him to an eye healer, mostly because I knew he couldn’t see. There it was revealed that he hadn’t been to one since he was a child and that the glasses that had so offended me, were the same ones he’d worn the day he started Hogwarts, explaining why they were too small for his face. I helped him pick out a new pair in a nice silver tone, steering him firmly away from the horrid black ones. Most importantly, these ones were the correct size for his face, eliminating a good deal of the revulsion I felt when looking at him wearing the old ones. Unfortunately he’d insisted on unfashionable round ones, glowering at me every time I brought to his attention a pair with a shape that complimented his face. The new ones weren’t perfect, but they were an improvement. And hey, I couldn’t be expected to solve all of the Savior’s problems, now could I?

            “Oh, what about?” I asked innocently, warm smile in place.   Maybe he was about to compliment me for my efforts and acknowledge that I’d done the impossible by getting Potter into a proper pair of spectacles. Maybe he was going to show signs of hitherto hidden humanity by thanking me for taking Potter to the healer, when I didn’t have to.

            “Didn’t you hear a word I just said? You’re a right arse living in Harry’s house and refusing to come down to even say hi to his friends. Hermione’s downstairs comforting him right now! Bloody mess, he is, over you! Ruined his glasses and won’t even pop out of your room for two seconds!”

            “Is he? What seems to be the problem?” I asked good-naturedly.

            “You! You are the world’s _worst_ boyfriend, ever! Taking advantage of him, you are. Living in his house, but you can’t even be cordial to his friends? What is wrong with you?” he asked accusingly.

            Again I could feel Potter trying to trap me into a relationship, like I was a bee and he was the honey. This time it was by telling his friends that we were together romantically, when he knew perfectly well that we were not. He’d been saying sweet things to me too. Weirder was the lack of insults. And how exactly was I supposed to respond to his little hints that he wanted to show me off to Weasley and Granger or to go on public dates with him? We couldn’t do either, or people would find out! He was moving too fast. Being with him felt like diving off the deep end and not knowing how to swim.

            I sighed in disappointment. “I don’t know how many more ways I can possibly find to say this, but it’s not going to change just because you and Potter aren’t capable of processing it,” I started. The next I spoke very slowly and clearly, hoping it might get through this time. “Potter is _not_ my boyfriend. We are _not_ dating. I am _staying_ here for the time being. We are _fuck buddies_. That is _all_. We’re not even _friends_.”

            Weasley stared at me like a troll for a minute and I wondered again about the family resemblance. He opened and closed his mouth several times, indicating he was having trouble making his brain formulate sentences. Finally he said, “I don’t know why you’re even that. He’s better off without you.”

            “Some best mate you are. You’re a right awful friend,” I observed.

            He stared at me. I was getting exasperation from him and could only assume it had to do with his verbal failings.

            “You should be happy your friend is getting laid for once. He’s how old now and still hadn’t had a proper shagging until I took mercy on him? You’d think a Weasley would be able to help him out with something like that; introduce him to a fit bloke or two. But no, you couldn’t be bothered to care that your so-called best mate was on track to still being a virgin at thirty,” I accused, letting him know what I thought of him. “And then you couldn’t even be happy for him when he _finally_ does get laid?” The last was in an incredulous tone.

            “He wasn’t a virgin! He was dating my sister! They did it loads of times!” Weasley retorted.

            “He’s gay and last I heard, your sister is a girl. It’s not a release when a gay bloke is forced into it with a straight bird. It’s a chore and it’s disgusting. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

            “He wasn’t gay before you got to him,” Weasley said, indicating just how little he understood his friend. I wasn’t even friends with Potter and I understood him better than Weasley did. I even got Potter properly laid, which was something Weasley had never done.

            I scoffed. “Keep telling yourself that. Now if you will excuse me, I really must be fetching some socks,” I said, trying to push past him.

            Weasley blocked my way, moving more squarely into the middle of the hallway and reaching out to both walls to ensure I couldn’t pass.

            In that moment, it occurred to me that Potter owned socks too. I turned and started running for the stairs, not stopping until I was pulling open a drawer in his room. Most of his socks were disgusting, but there were a few decent pair. I took the best, put them on, and then headed back downstairs. I noticed Weasley was in the drawing room with Potter and Granger now, where he should have been all along. I wasn’t going to risk another unpleasant encounter, not when I had friends I could visit, so I carried on. I put on my shoes and cloak, stepped outside, and apparated away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, what do you think happened to Harry’s glasses?  
> Things can’t stay like this for much longer…soon the wheels Draco has put in motion will come crashing down on them.


	6. Chapter 6

            My stay at Grimmauld Place lasted about a month and was quite comfortable. I had my own space, having moved into the master bedroom. Potter cleaned it up, of course, because I was not about to clean dead rodent skeletons and bird feathers out of there; Merlin only knew what he or the previous owner was doing up there, but my guess was an ostrich that was eventually eaten. My room was a real fixer-upper, but it was also the largest in the house, had good bones, and with a little of Potter’s elbow grease and my nose for elegance, it was now the nicest room in the place.

            Harry’s room was alright too, in a warm and cozy, but not fashionable way. I slept in his bed whenever I wanted sex, which was regularly. He tended to get too clingy and lovey-dovey, so I had to pull back and keep him at a distance. I did my best to make it clear that I wanted him for sex, not for a boyfriend. I asked him for sex; I wasn’t asking for the rest. He wasn’t happy about that, nor was he happy that I didn’t want to hang out with his friends. I wasn’t there to play nice with Weasley and Granger. I was there for cock.

            Eventually though, I got what I wanted from him. If he had half a brain, it wouldn’t take him long to figure out why I was puking my guts out. I wasn’t ready for him to find out, so I left. I packed up my things and told him I was moving back to the Manor. I’d been at his house for about a month and I was ready to go home and give my mother what she wanted.

            He owled me and fire-called me after I left, trying to keep in contact. He tried to floo me, but the wards rejected him, just like they wouldn’t let him in when he apparated onto the grounds outside the gate. I sent one letter back, saying that I was getting married and it was really better if our relationship didn’t continue. I was starting the life my mother wanted me to have and it wasn’t right to continue my fling with him, reiterating that I’d only been using him for sex. It’s what I’d told him from the beginning, but judging by the letter he sent back and the reports of his depression in the papers, he didn’t take it well.

            But I couldn’t relent. Even if I wasn’t really getting married, I couldn’t risk seeing him, because he might find out what I’d done. Sure he might find out eventually, but then again he might not. He was very clever, but not exceptionally so and I was a good liar. He was also super prone to doing dangerous things—it was part of his job even—so there was a good chance he’d get himself killed before he figured it out.

            That thought sent a pang of anguish through my chest. Stupid Potter couldn’t give an elf’s fart about his own life, even if it was hurting me. Stupid Potter would never understand how it felt to be left behind every morning while he went off on one dangerous mission after another, knowing full well he placed his life last in evaluating any situation. Stupid Potter had been too sappy and now I was paying the price, despite my best efforts not to fall for him. If only keeping it just sex was as easy as it sounds.

            I might try fixing him up. It might be nice waking up next to him every morning for the rest of our lives… His body was right, his cock moved just right, and with his new glasses, he wasn’t bad looking. Sure his hair needed work, but maybe if I found the right product, he’d start using it. The dates he suggested didn’t sound half bad, especially the ones with a little culture, which had obviously been suggested to him by Granger. I could imagine going out on those dates with him, his hair cleaned up and sporting new robes. I could see us getting married, having children, and growing old. I could picture my happily ever after with him in it.

            But no, that could never be, because he’s an Auror. It could never work. He’d want to risk his life for every kneazle trapped in a tree and that would never do for a Malfoy. He’d never give up being an Auror for me and he’d hate me if I asked him to. He’d never give up his horrible friends Weasley and Granger, either. And telling someone to dump their friends was not good for a relationship. So it could never work between us. I’d have to make do with the piece of him I already had. Maybe I could trick him again someday and come away with another piece, but that was risky…too risky. No, I’d have to settle for one or else it’d never work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, have you all figured out what Draco’s hiding? Why he invited himself into Harry’s bed in the first place? This chapter should give it away. Also, I made a banner for this story. It can be viewed at the fanfiction version of this story  
> [here. ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11725989/1/The-Ancient-and-Most-Noble-House-of-Black)  
> Do you like it?
> 
> The other story I’m writing is coming to an end, so I started posting a new story! It’s a murder mystery Auror fic where Draco calls Harry in to investigate the death of his late husband. It’s set in this sort of utopian country set up and run by Lucius Malfoy. It’s called Murder in the Pureblood Country of Malfoy. Check it out!


	7. Chapter 7

            Potter wasn’t the only one pestering me. Mother was too. She wasn’t stupid. It took her about a week to figure out that I was pregnant, despite my best efforts to hide it. Six hours more to ask me if it was Potter’s. I couldn’t lie, not to Mother, which led to her deciding that I really ought to marry Potter. It was best for the baby. The little one really ought not to be born out of wedlock. Potter was a standup bloke; surely he’d marry me once my mother threatened his life. She, of course, assumed that Potter knew and that was why I’d moved back and we’d broken up. She didn’t ask, so I didn’t have to lie to her. I just had to let her keep thinking Potter knew.

            My mother was persistent. I had to keep telling her that I didn’t want her saying anything to Potter, because if he didn’t want to marry me without her interference, then I didn’t want to be married to him. She didn’t seem to understand the inherent problems with marrying Harry Potter. Not that I was keen to explain it to her, but still it was clear that she didn’t see anything wrong with marrying an Auror who was friends with Weasley and Granger.

            Father understood that much at least. He was on my side on that part. “Draco doesn’t have to marry that scum if he doesn’t want to,” he’d say. He just didn’t get why I’d lowered myself to sex with Potter in the first place, nor why I’d want to keep the baby. “You should get rid of it, Draco. You know you can’t keep it,” he’d say. But Mother said I could keep it and she stopped him from saying more. One look and he’d shut right up.

            Father wanted to kill Potter too. He and Mother agreed about that much. Every morning I was treated to fun new ways to do it, only they never sounded fun to me. They made my stomach turn. I told him to leave Potter alone. I told him I’d do something drastic if Potter turned up dead, like announce to the papers that I was carrying Potter’s lovechild. That always made Father pale; the last thing he wanted, was anyone finding out. Me having this baby out of wedlock wasn’t nearly as bad as someone finding out it was Potter’s.

            My home life was a balance. Wake up, puke my guts out, have breakfast, insist to my father that nothing was to happen to Potter today, insist to my mother that she wasn’t to speak to Potter today, find something to occupy my time all day, seeing as I couldn’t brew while pregnant, and on like that. Day after day, for three months.

 

* * *

 

 

            Three months after I moved back home, four months after that first night with Potter, my parents got fed up. Mother thought I should marry Potter. Father thought I should find anyone, anyone at all, as long as it wasn’t Potter, to claim my baby and marry me. They both agreed that I needed to be married and now that I wasn’t sick every day, I should be out working on that. When I refused, they put their feet down and kicked me out.

            I’d been planning on spending the rest of my life hiding from Potter. The last thing I wanted was for him to find out I was pregnant. If I could just hide until the baby’s born, then I could pretend I’d gotten someone else pregnant. If it wasn’t me having the baby, he’d never realize that it was his. Unless it looked too much like him…I could only hope that wouldn’t be the case.

            I was already four months gone, only five months left to go. If I just had somewhere to stay for the next five months, then I had a chance. Unfortunately, I was out a source of income, because brewing is not an acceptable activity for pregnant people. I had some money saved up, but my parents had sworn to cut me off when it came to providing for my child. There were so many things a baby needed and I wouldn’t be able to work for so many months; I couldn’t waste the money I had on lodging now. I had to find somewhere free to stay, so I’d be able to take care of us until I could get back to work.

            Options: Grandmother Malfoy, Grandmother Black, a disowned aunt on my mother’s side I’d never met, and Potter. I tried Grandmother Malfoy first. She refused, on the basis that my father had told her not to put me up. I tried Grandmother Black next. She refused, because I really shouldn’t be having a child out of wedlock, especially Potter’s child. But, she did say I could stay if I agreed to, “abort the abomination.” I crossed Grandmother Black off the list. Repeatedly, breaking my quill and tearing the parchment in my vigor. If I was head of the Black family, I’d disown her. But, I wasn’t; Potter was.

            My last two options on my list had the same problem: Potter might find out. He was close with the aunt I’d never met. He was god-father, or something, to my little second cousin, who I’d also never met. If I went to her, he’d find out. So, I might as well go straight to him.

            I did consider breaking pureblood protocol and asking one of my friends if I could stay with them. Proper Purebloods stay with family, but disowned ones could stay with their friends. Pansy, Daphne, Theo, Greg, or even Blaise might risk a family feud to help me out; that’s what would happen if I disobeyed pureblood rules: a feud. Our families would fight long past the point where there was no one left who remembered what we were fighting about. I’d never be allowed back home. In all likelihood, Father would decide to name someone else as his heir, cutting me out of my inheritance. I’d lose the Manor, my ancestral home, and everything in it. I’d lose the vaults. I’d lose my good name. Right now I was only kicked out, told to make it on my own, but I wasn’t disowned. My child wasn’t disowned. I could come home someday, when my parents got over themselves. They’d surely take one look at this little one and cave. But not if they weren’t talking to me and refused to see my baby.

            It was too much to lose. It was too much for my child to lose. I had to try following the rules. Mother wanted me to go to Potter. My list was basically down to Potter. If I found some way to stay with Potter without him finding out about the baby, without marrying him, then Mother would be appeased. Father wouldn’t like it, but he never was going to. If I got Mother on my side, then she’d get Father in line. She’d take me back and he’d have to go along with her.

            And so I came up with a plan. I apparated to Grimmauld Place, knowing full-well Potter would still be at work. It let me in. Of course it let me in: I was carrying the Black heir, from the two most primary lines to boot. And I was technically homeless. Even if Potter wanted me out, he couldn’t keep me out. This wasn’t like with my grandmothers who could choose to house me, because as my baby’s father, Potter had to house me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Draco is once more at the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black with a plan up his sleeves.   
> Please review!


	8. Chapter 8

            I waited in the drawing room all afternoon, knowing Potter wouldn’t be home until half past six, five at the earliest, but too keyed up to do anything else. I kept thinking that there was always a chance today wouldn’t be a normal day. Today Potter might narrowly escape death and as a result, be sent home early. If it happened today, I needed to be waiting by the fireplace.

            Of course today wasn’t the day and Potter was fine. The floo made a sound indicating that it rejected passage at exactly half past. Seconds later, Potter’s head popped up in the flames.

            “Draco?” He sounded surprised to see me, hopeful even.

            I opened my mouth to answer, but stopped, not trusting myself to answer.

“Draco! It’s so good to see you! I knew you’d come back!” Then when I still didn’t reply, he continued, sounding more suspicious. “Draco? What’s going on? Why can’t I come through?”

            “The house locked you out,” I answered, trying to focus on trivial things like the house choosing me over him, now that I had his baby.

            “Why?” he asked, narrowing his gaze at me.

            “I needed it to.”

            “Why? Why are you back? I thought you were getting married to your mystery lover.” He sounded accusatory. I hadn’t told him who I was marrying, because I didn’t want him asking around and finding out that I was making it up.

            My plan was to lie to him. I had it all worked out, running it through my head over and over again while I waited for him. But when it was time, things didn’t go as plan. My pregnancy hormones kicked in and all of the sudden I was overwhelmed and crying. Not wanting Potter to see, I curled up on myself as I wept. This was quickly turning into a disaster.

            “Draco?” Potter, still stuck in the fireplace, sounded concerned now. “Are you crying?” I didn’t answer, too busy trying to get my breathing under control. “Oh shite, you are! Let me come through.” He sounded desperate now.

            In the process of shaking my head, to indicate that I wasn’t going to let him in, I noticed he was making useless attempts to claw his way out. It sort of looked like he was crazy, the way he was flailing his arms about. It was funny enough to distract me from my emotional breakdown. I took a deep breath and did my best to push back the tears, focusing on Potter making an arse out of himself.

            “Why can’t I come through? Let me through already, so I can help you. How did you lock me out? It’s my house,” he complained as he flailed about, getting frustrated.

            I took another deep breath and did my best to sound calm, but still ended up sounding shaky, as I answered, “Technically it’s the Black house and if you didn’t have Black blood from your father’s mother, your godfather never would’ve been able to leave it to you.”

            “And now the house has decided it belongs to you, is that it? Bloody house has a mind of its own?”

            “Yes,” I replied, unable to stop my breath from coming out in gasps.

            “What’s wrong, Draco? Please tell me so I can fix it.” He was still now, serious, boring into me with those big green eyes of his.

            “I need time,” I gasped out, as the tears came pouring down my cheeks again.

            “What happened?” he pressed.

            “I can’t do it,” I admitted.

            “You can’t do what?” he asked, but I didn’t answer. After a minute, he asked another. “Does this have to do with the arranged marriage your parents are trying to force on you?”

            I nodded, because in a way, it did. It all started with my mother’s prodding me to settle down. And it had ended with my parents kicking me out, because I wasn’t married.

            “Great! This is wonderful, Draco, don’t you see?” His tone was happy, excited even. “Look, I want you back, Draco. Now we can be together. No more of this pureblood arranged marriage crap. Just you and me.”

            I shook my head.

            “Yes, yes we can. We were great together! Stop fighting it and you’ll see. I want a family too. You and your pureblood parents are going about it all backwards, of course, but fine, whatever. Tell your parents to arrange a marriage between you and me, instead of Pansy Parkinson or whoever it is they’re trying to push on you. I don’t even know why they’d try making you marry a witch…But that’s besides the point. The point is that we can get married, you and me, Draco. And children, an heir; we can get a surrogate to-”

            I cut him off there. I didn’t mean to, but before I knew what I was saying, I gasped out an indignant, “Surrogate!?!”

            “Yes. We’ll make lots of little babies and hire a surrogate to carry them,” Potter started, but he must’ve seen the look on my face. He was quiet then and I could see his mind backtracking and altering course. “There’s nothing wrong with using a surrogate. I can’t carry them, because of my job. It’d be too risky. And of course you wouldn’t want to carry them. So it makes sense that we’d get a surrogate.”

            He obviously didn’t know me as well as he thought he did. He just assumed I wouldn’t care enough for my own children to give birth to them myself? That I’d pay someone to do it for me? What kind of monster did he think I was? The idea that he thought so little of me, when here I was, pregnant with his child, made me lose it. My pregnancy hormones took over again and I was sobbing.

            “Is that what this is about? The whole time you’ve been pushing me away, because you’ve some pureblood prejudice against using a surrogate? So instead of being with me, where you belong, you let your parents pair you up with some flimsy pureblood bimbo who is willing to bear your children. And all because I can’t do it, because I’m an Auror? This is-”

            I didn’t wait around to find out what it was. Already on the word “Auror” I was out of my seat, stumbling towards the fireplace. I was so upset I almost fell as I reached for my wand. I caught myself, one palm flat against the brick. A quick spell and Potter’s head was gone, the fire was out, and all of the fireplaces in the house were closed to the floo network.

            I collapsed there on the rug in front of the vacant fireplace, crying myself to sleep. We couldn’t be together because he was an Auror and he knew it. He knew it and still he couldn’t choose me. He was never going to not be a bloody Auror. He was never going to be mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco’s plans never turn out quite right, do they? 
> 
> I am undecided about which way to go, so I am going to ask you all to decide. Option one: a chapter with letters going back and forth between Harry and Draco. Harry will ask what’s going on. Draco will tell his lie... I haven’t worked it out. I need some ideas for what Harry should write and what Draco should write back. Suggestions are welcome. I do know that it needs to lead into the next chapter, where Harry breaks into the house and winds up having sex with Draco, which means Harry needs to be okay with Draco’s lie enough to fuck him.  
>  Option two: Start with the sex chapter. No letters are exchanged. Harry has no explanation for what is going on. They have sex and then at the end, Draco tells a lie to make Harry go. In the following chapter, Harry is locked out of his own house again, and they exchange those letters.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left me suggestions! Everyone seemed to agree that Harry and Draco needed more time together. And then one person suggested that maybe Harry could get in the house earlier, before the sex scene I have planned, and that seemed perfect…

            I was so lonely. So unbearably alone, pregnant and by myself in a strange house. I held firm and strong as long as I could, blocking Potter out with my will. The problem with this type of magic on a house was that the moment you stopped hating someone, the moment you subconsciously decide it wouldn’t be dangerous to see someone again, that was the moment the house unlocked. The house wanted to unlock to Potter, because he was still its proper owner. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let Potter find out that I was pregnant. I had to keep the house functioning as if Potter was a threat to the heir.

            I lasted two days, one night. But then came Friday night and not only was I not going out with my friends, but I was stuck at home with no family either. I hadn’t factored in how utterly abandoned going through with this plan would make me feel. I hadn’t expected my parents to throw me out, so it never occurred to me to consider any scenario without them. Sure I didn’t expect them to take my plan with smiles and just embrace my stupidity. But kicking me out was a whole other level entirely.

            I cried myself to sleep that night in Potter’s bed, clutching his thick comforters on this chilly night. I slept in his bed last night too, to help stave off the loneliness, but tonight, it didn’t work. I cracked and the house opened. It opened to Potter. He came stumbling into his room, smelling of butterbeer, in the middle of the night while I was sound asleep.

            “Draco? Draco, Love, are you alright? Were you crying? Are you asleep? What’s going on?” he asked me, scooping me up into his arms as he joined me on the bed. The tears must’ve dried on my face.

            I came awake in Potter’s arms, but not fully so: I was still so drowsy that it was difficult keeping my eyes open. It just felt so right to be back in his arms, like he could make my problems go away. Stupid pregnancy hormones; see this is why I couldn’t play nice with him. That, and I was already starting to show. Mother said I was overreacting and it was nothing, but my clothes were uncomfortably tight and when I looked in the mirror, I looked bloated.

            “How’d you get in here?” I asked, resting my head on his shoulder. My eyes closed, I breathed in the familiar scent of him and felt his cold skin against mine. He must’ve been out in the cold without a cloak.

            “It was just open. I went out drinking with my friends. I’m a bit tipsy. Then I made up my mind that I had to try again, my Love. They told me it would be useless, but I knew you’d change your mind. I tried all last night to break in. The Fidelius let me in, but the door wouldn’t let me touch it. I was stuck on the porch, working every spell I could think of on that stupid ward. Nothing took. I fell asleep from exhaustion. In the morning, Ron and Hermione came and got me. They made me spend the day with them. They made me go out with them. They told me not to try to come home tonight. But I had to come and then the door opened. I came up here and here you are, in my bed, waiting for me. Oh Love, are you ready to take me back?”

            “No…” I trailed off, voice thick with sleep.

            “Why not?” he asked innocently, as if he really didn’t know.

I shrugged in his arms, not wanting to let go. But he shook me lightly and moved out from under me. I was slipping, down towards the mattress. I put my arms out to catch myself, but never got that far. He caught me under the arms and helped me settle against the headboard, in a reclining position. I was sort of startled awake by it all. I stared at him, both of him, wondering what all of that was about.

“Will you tell me what is going on then?” he asked.

            “I need time.” I didn’t know what else to say.

            “Time for what?”

            “To figure it all out! It’s happening too fast! I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, my fuzzy mind letting it slip.

            “Just tell me what it is, so I can help you. We can figure it out together. Me and you, Draco. I love you. All you have to do is tell me, and together we will make it better.”

            He was silent, waiting for my answer. But I had no answer to give, my head spinning. I couldn’t think. It wasn’t like the lies were spinning through my head so fast that I couldn’t pick one to go with, but that I couldn’t think of any at all. Not even the truth was in my head. It was just blurred images of Potter and the room, swirling about in my empty brain.

            “Draco, look at me,” he commanded. Then he went silent, waiting me out. Finally I looked and we made eye contact. I wanted to hold his gaze, but with four green eyes I couldn’t figure out which to focus on. It made my head worse and I had to close my eyes to make it stop. “Draco, Love, are you all right?”

            I knew I should say something, to reassure him, but the truth was I wasn’t.

            “You don’t look well,” he said, hands rising to my face. He cupped my cheeks, then pressed a cool palm to my forehead. “You’re burning up. You’ve got a fever. Are you sick? Is that why you locked yourself in my house? You’re sick?”

            I shook my head. I wasn’t sick. I wasn’t even hot. He was cold.

            “Don’t lie to me. I know something is wrong, Draco, I’m not stupid,” he said.

            “I’m not sick.”

            “You are; you’re burning up,” he insisted.

            “I’m not.”

            “You are. You’re sick”

            “I wasn’t. Not until tonight.” I may not have a fever, but the double vision was a sign that something wasn’t right. Maybe I was getting ill.

            “Then what’s going on?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “You don’t know? How can you not know?” he pressed.

            “I don’t understand. Nothing is making sense right now. My head is like,” I paused, making a circular motion with my hand, “and I don’t know how we got here.” The two of him questioning me wasn’t helping either, but I didn’t mention that.

            “You don’t know how we got here?” he repeated.

            “No,” I confirmed. I couldn’t remember.

            “Do you know how you got here?”

            I searched for a recollection of what was happening, but the past three months were a blur. I could think only of the wonderful month we’d spent together. I shook my head.

            “Do you know where we are?”

            “Our room,” I answered.

            “And where’s that?” he asked, waiting for an answer. I tried to figure it out, but I couldn’t figure out what he was asking. “Where is our room?” Again he paused. “Which house?” Another pause. “What city are we in?”

            “City?” I asked, certain he was giving me the answer. There was only one city. What was it called?

            “London. We’re in the Black family home, in London,” he supplied.

            “London…” I tried the word out. It fit. Now that he told me, images of the rest of the house and the street beyond came to mind in a dizzying sort of way.

            “You’re confused; it’s the fever,” he told me, his hand once again pressed to my forehead. “You’re burning up. Don’t you feel hot?”

            I shook my head and answered, “Warm. Just right.”

            “It’s okay, Love, I’ll take care of you. We’ll get you cooled off and then when you feel better, you can tell me what happened.”

            I nodded. My head wasn’t functioning well enough to take care of myself. It felt nice to have someone taking care of me again.

He called to the decrepit elf and before I knew it, he was thrusting an ice cold glass of water in my hands and telling me to drink. I sipped, but there was ice in my glass and that was weird. How was I supposed to drink with little bits of ice in the way? I wasn’t even thirsty. I stared at the glass in my hands, contemplating it, until it was pulled from my grasp. The elf’s grotesque old face was in my face, saying something, or croaking something, is more like it.

Then Potter pushed the elf aside and handed me a vial of Willow Bark potion. I didn’t know why he was handing it to me—I didn’t connect its common use as a fever reducer—but I did register it as one of the few potions that were safe for pregnant people. He wanted me to take it, so I did.

I let him lead me to the bathroom, strip me down, and put me under a shower of freezing cold water. I didn’t stay under the water. The instant it touched my skin, I instinctively pulled away, cowering in the corner of the stall. Despite his urgings, I didn’t go back under the spray until the water was warm. It wasn’t properly warm, more like tepid, but he seemed set on me taking a shower with him. He was naked, his bare body pressed to mine, his arms wrapped around me. It felt nice and safe.

            I shivered as he dried me off with a soft towel and dressed me in thin pajamas. I let him dote on me. I did as he wanted. I paid no attention to the words he was saying—they were just a buzzing in my ears anyway—letting them wash over me. I climbed into bed with him and fell asleep with my head on his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t going to have Draco get sick here, but I needed something to stave of the interrogation from Harry that is coming. This way they can have a couple of days together, no letters needed. Now I just have to figure out how they should spend that time…


	10. Chapter 10

            The second time I woke the next day, it was from Potter’s movement on the mattress. I’d woken up once already, relieved myself, eaten breakfast, worked out a plan, and gone back to sleep, all without waking Potter.

            I cracked open an eye just in time to see him fall onto the floor, tripping himself in the blankets. The bright sunlight coming in the window blinded me. I slammed my eyelids shut, but not quick enough to prevent a sudden headache.

            “Stop moving the bed,” I complained. The movement was making it worse.

            “Draco! You’re awake!” he exclaimed, disentangling the blankets from around his ankles. Why did he have to be so loud so early in the morning?

            “Have to be, after that, wouldn’t I? I think you shook the house,” I said sleepily. In spite of my headache, I did my best to be my usual charming self. I didn’t want to make him aware of any of my pregnancy symptoms and that included the handful of headaches I’d had in the last week.

            “Sorry.”

            “It’s the house you should be apologizing to. Old bones and all.”

            He muttered another, “Sorry,” and climbed back onto the bed on his hands and knees. Again I felt the movement jarring my brain. “It’s your house now and all, so of course you’re worried about that.”

            It occurred to me then that headaches were one of the symptoms of a hangover. Since that fit my plan, I decided to come clean about it. “It’s not my house and I know you’re fine. Stop trying to garner sympathy when my head is killing me,” I said. I pressed my forearm over my closed eyes in an attempt to ameliorate the pain by blocking out the sun.

            “It’s not your house?”

            “No, it’s still yours. It just listens to me sometimes.” Blocking out the light didn’t help, so I let my arm fall and tentatively opened my eyes. That didn’t go so well. There was a lot of blinking and rubbing my temples. I ended up sitting up sort of hunched over to go at it in a more comfortable position.

            “Are you alright?” he asked, examining me.

            “Hung over. And hungry. It’s already noon,” I said, looking at the clock on the bedside. My head was bad, but I knew I needed to deal with the hunger first, or I risked a relapse of morning sickness. I caught sight of the muggle snacks I’d left up here yesterday. They were greasy, salty, and carb-laden, but they had this convenient seal that meant they didn’t go bad and came in tiny little packets, making them perfect for leaving by the bed. I tore open the package and started scarfing them down. “These are disgusting, but soo good.”

            “You’re hungover? Were you drinking last night?” Potter asked, sounding skeptical. He was looking me up and down, as if there was some tale-tell sign of a hang-over.

            “Oh yeah.” With a little bit of food in me, I was quickly feeling better. “My head is killing me. At least there’s only the one of you now. Good looking out on that one; double does _not_ look good on you.”  
            “What are you talking about?”

            “Last night. There were two of you and you told me to look at you, but I couldn’t figure out which one to look at.”

            “You were seeing double?” he asked. I nodded, shoveling in more of the muggle snack. “You were drunk?”

            “So drunk. I don’t think I’ve ever been that drunk. After a while you stopped talking in words, I was so drunk.” Best to keep as close to the truth as possible, so that there was less lie to remember.

            “That’s why you stopped responding? I thought you were just tired.”

            “I was tired. You woke me up, when I was trying to be passed out.”

            “But you don’t drink!” he exclaimed, making a circular gesture with his hands, as if he was just now putting it all together.

            I did drink, but when I’d moved in here the first time, I’d told Potter I didn’t. I was four months sober for a reason, but he didn’t need to know that. “And now you know why. Clearly I’m not very good at it,” I lied.

            “What did you drink? You didn’t try one of those illicit potions they take in the night clubs, did you?” he asked accusingly.

            “No!” I answered indignantly. I was about to say I’d never do one, but then I stopped myself. If this happened again, it might be good to have a couple vials of funny potion around to explain it. I didn’t have to take it, as long as he thought I had.

            “Well then what did you drink? Firewisky? Vodka? For someone who doesn’t drink, you sure were awfully drunk.

            “Wine, if you must know. I had a bottle all to myself. And I don’t drink, you know that. I don’t have the tolerance you do. How many butterbeers did _you_ have last night?”

            “About a dozen and I was clearly the sober one. You’re telling me, one bottle of wine had you that drunk?”

            “Yes! Didn’t you smell it on me?” I asked, knowing that he was too tipsy last night to have been able to.

            “No…” he answered, but didn’t sound sure of it.

            Reaching into the snack bag and coming up empty, I looked inside to verify. “Bags empty and I’m still hungry.”

            He sighed and said, “I’ll cook,” as he rose from the bed.

            “And can I have one of your hangover potions? You have some, right?” I asked, getting up too.

            “You need one? You don’t seem that hungover.”

            “I’ve a ragging headache. Your interrogation of my drinking habits didn’t help. Oh, and I better not ever hear you complain when I refuse to have a drink with you, after this. No more, ‘Come on, Draco, one drink’s not gonna hurt.’ You were wrong. It hurts.” Might as well rub it in, in case he wants me to prove my ability to ingest wine.

            “Sorry. I keep it under the sink in the bathroom. You do know it makes your breath stink like moldy fish, right?” he asked, heading towards the door.

            I followed after. “I’ll brush my teeth,” I promised. I wasn’t going to take it. I wanted to, because my head still hurt, but it wasn’t safe for the baby. I’d take a Willow Bark instead.

 

* * *

 

            Potter made eggs, bacon, and toast by hand. He liked to cook whenever he wasn’t too busy. I figured it was because his decrepit elf wasn’t much of a cook, but then Potter wasn’t that great at it either. Neither could compete with the elves at the Manor.

            It wasn’t until after the meal that he started back up with the questions. “How’s your head?”

            “Better,” I admitted, but quickly thought twice about answering honestly. “Not great, but better. I’m not in the mood for a full interrogation.”

            “Just the half interrogation then,” he said and I groaned. “Come on Draco, you need to tell me what’s going on.”

            “I drank too much. I just wanted to forget,” I lied.

            “Not about the drinking. What happened with you and your girlfriend? Why’d you show up here?” he prodded.

            I’d never imagined my pretend fiancé to be female, but now that he said it, I went with it. A witch was better anyway; easier to accidentally get pregnant. “We broke up and my parents kicked me out.”

            “They disowned you!?! Over that? Just because you didn’t go through with their stupid arranged marriage?” he asked incredulously.

            “They didn’t disown me. They kicked me out, until I get my life in order. They just want me to grow up.” My shoulders were raised, up against my ears. My parents weren’t monsters. I didn’t agree with what they did, but I did understand it.

            “And that’s why you freaked out?” he asked, hands reaching out to cover mine.

            I nodded.

            “Oh Draco! Come here,” he said, taking me into his arms. I sank into him, enjoying the comfort. “It’ll be okay. You just need to tell them about us. We love each other. Surely they’ll understand.”

            “Mother will. Father hates you,” I revealed.

            “You don’t think they’ll approve of us?”

            “Well Mother did bring up the possibility…”

            “And?”

            “And Father said he’ll kill you.”

            “And what did your mother say to that?” he asked.

            “Oh, she had several inventive suggestions. Marry you, kill you; one of the two.”

            He groaned. “Lovely.”

            “They settled on killing you.”

            “No wonder you ran away. Draco, I’m so sorry this is happening, but I promise you, it’ll get better. Your parents will get used to the idea and this whole mess will go away.”

            “Are you sure?” I asked, wanting his vision to be possible.

            “Absolutely, they love you too much for it to be otherwise.”

            I nodded into his chest.

            We stayed like that for a long time, during which, I had time to think. I had him off my case, but not out of the house. It was only Saturday afternoon; he didn’t go into work until Monday morning. I still had more of my lie to tell, but this wasn’t the time to tell it, because if he found out now, he’d spend the weekend interrogating me about it. Plus, he’d be mad at me and wouldn’t want sex. If I was putting up with him for the weekend, I better at least get a lay out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to stop here, because the rest of the day will be mostly sex. 
> 
> I’d like to thank Nagilover4ever, Stargirl1061, and Zarina25 for taking the time to review. Your reviews inspire me to write, so please keep them coming.


	11. Chapter 11

            You know those inane debates drunk people have over stupid stuff? Potter and I had one of those over whether or not I had a fever the night before. This was a sticking point for me, because I was most definitely not sick today and fevers weren’t a symptom of being a lush; at least not one I’d ever heard of before. Due to the lack of admittedly sober observers, there was no real way to settle it. Ultimately we agreed that I may have been a tad bit warm, and he had definitely been cold.

            Next we had a bit of a tiff about the letters he’d sent me during the past two days. I hadn’t read them, because I hadn’t been ready to. Now I wanted to read them, but they were gone. I got Potter to admit to destroying them, which upset me, because I saved all of his letters, even the embarrassing, groveling, and threatening ones. Now my collection was incomplete and I didn’t even know what the missing letters said. My collection was permanently ruined and there was no way to ever fix it. That thought made my pregnancy hormones kick in, so I avoided him for an hour or so, in order to calm down. And no, I didn’t want Potter to write me a new letter to make it up to me, although I did later retrieve the scrap of parchment he wrote the apology on from the bin, in order to add it to my flawed collection.

            When I calmed down later that afternoon, I sprawled out on his bed with a book to read. That’s where I was when he found me. I wondered how long it would take him to find me here.

            “Are you still upset with me?” he asked from the doorway in a tone that seemed very unsure of himself.

            “No, just don’t touch my things again,” I warned.

            “Okay. What are you doing?”

            “Reading,” I answered innocently.

            “Reading in my bed?” he asked, a predatory smile on his face. According to the rules I’d taught him before, if I was lying in his bed, it was an invitation for him to have sex with me.

            I nodded, making room for him. I was at the sweet spot, no longer sick and barely showing, and he’d already seen me naked last night. No reason not to.

            He climbed in after me, pulling off his pajamas as he went. I left mine on, self-conscious about my recent weight gain and wanting to minimize the time I was exposed to him. Instead, I reached out and helped pull at his clothes.

            Then he was leaning over me, naked, with his predatory smile in place and pulling at my shirt. I leaned up to kiss him, something I rarely did—I always waited for him to kiss me—but, this time I wanted to distract him, so I snogged him properly, shrugging out of my pajama bottoms in the process.

            Potter was a fast learner when it came to sex. He still needed his reassurances to get going, but once he did, he could be brilliant at it. Could be, because he had a tendency to either cum right away or to take two hours to do it.

            “It’s been months. I haven’t since…” I waved my hand around the room, trying to indicate that I hadn’t had sex since I left him. Even with my fantasy ex-fiancé, I hadn’t pretend bottomed.

            “So I need to open you first?” he asked, remembering what I’d taught him. I hadn’t meant to be his teacher; I didn’t want him leaving me and knowing what to do in the bedroom with someone else, but some things can’t be helped.

            I nodded and reached over, taking his hard cock in my hands. Time to get rid of the naughty first orgasm. I jerked him off, taking my time with it. This might be my last time fucking Harry Potter and I wanted it to last.

            While my hands were on him, his hands were on me. He pushed one of my knees down to the bed, exposing my sex. He looked at me like he had never seen a naked man before, like how he’d looked at me that third time. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, staring at my bare crotch.

            I murmured my agreement, not bothering to point out that saying that to my crotch was less preferable than him saying it to my face. That was just how it was with Potter; ill-placed sap and copious declarations of undying love, even when I tried to keep it just sex.

            His touch was slow, tentative at first. He was gentle, tracing over me, like a blind person seeing with his hands. He pulled my ballocks into his hands, gently palpitating them. They were over sensitized from the pregnancy hormones, causing my cock to jerk with the touch. Then he went back to exploring my body, his hands on my thighs, my cock, and my stomach. Two flat palms pushed up my expanding belly. “Have you put on some weight?” he asked.

            I glared at him. He’d been with a witch; he should know not to say anything about their weight.

            Potter blushed red and stammered. “No! No, I didn’t mean it like that! It’s hot; you’re hot. So hot.” He leaned down and kissed my lower abdomen, right in the middle, where his child was. It felt so unbelievably nice, but I couldn’t have it.

            “Leave it. I’m bloated. Wine doesn’t agree with me. And the stress eating. You have no idea how awful it is to try to force yourself to love someone my father picks.” I let go of his cock and repositioned his hands on my cock, where they belonged.

            “Alright, sorry. I didn’t mean any offense. I was just aiming for your nipples. I remember how sensitive they are.” He abandoned my cock in favor of my chest. My chest was swollen too. Ever since that one week that I couldn’t keep anything down, it was swollen and more sensitive than usual. Silently I hoped he wouldn’t notice.

            He kept his comments to himself as he touched, cupped, and explored the two barely there puffs of skin around my nipples with his hands and then with his tongue. It felt so good that I had to remind myself I was supposed to be jerking him off, not cumming too. When he stopped, he left one hand on my chest, as he trailed the other down my body, to my cock.

            He smiled and then grunted as I let my thumb caress his frenulum. He moaned and closed his eyes. A handful of firm hard tugs later and I had a pile of lube.

            My shirt was an uncomfortable tangle pushed up under my armpits, so I took it off; there was no point in hiding what he’d already seen. Then I lay on my stomach, resting with one arm tucked under my chest and my arse out. The other hand, the one with the cum, I held down at my side for him. I doubled the volume with a wandless lube spell when he wasn’t looking; I didn’t want him learning such a spell. It was best if he continued believing that anal sex was made possible by semen alone. Then he wouldn’t grow suspicious about why I’d mixed our seeds and inseminated my arse so many times.

            He entered me slowly, one finger at first, stretching my rim and applying his semen. Then there were two fingers, scissoring, like I’d taught him. “You’re so tight tonight. How am I ever going to get you open?” he asked, struggling with just the two fingers.

            “I haven’t had anal sex in three months; it’s not just going to pop open for you like when we were fucking every other night. You have to work at it.”

            He renewed his efforts to finger me, this time slipping in the index finger from his other hand. Minutes later, he had three fingers in and managed a swipe at my prostate. I moaned.

            He worked all of the cum and lube into my arse, opening me properly. Then he flipped me over and started sucking me off, in order to get more lubrication. I was worked up from the fingering and the way his fingertips never failed to find my prostate, so it wasn’t long before I was cumming. He didn’t swallow. He spat it into my hole, letting gravity pull it down into me. Then he turned me over, pulled me on top of him, and sat me down on his hard cock.

            I lay on his chest, enjoying my post-orgasmic bliss and the feeling of being split wide open for the first time in months. It was so perfect. He was so wide and long.

            He cuddled me, reaching around and rubbing my shoulders and my back. “Oh! Right there!” I called as he found a sore spot. Stupid pregnancy had my back aching and without a partner, I’d had no one to rub it. Now that I did, I wanted to keep Potter around, if only for the backrubs.

            “Your muscles are tight. Have you been doing a lot of lifting or something?” he asked as he put more pressure into the massage.

            “Gutting a room on the fourth floor. I decided the house needs a remodel,” I explained. I’d used elf labor to do all the hard parts, but he didn’t need to know that, like he didn’t need to know that carrying his child was the real cause of my pain or that I was going to turn the room into a nursery.

            “Remodeling other people’s houses, is that a pureblood thing?”

            “Are you forgetting the state of that room?”

            “Oh yeah, that was Fred and George’s room…”

            I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I guessed Fred and George were the names of the wizards who had destroyed the room. I didn’t want to get into that, so I let it go, instead concentrating on the feel of Potter’s firm hands working all of my aches and pains away.

            He continued until all of the kinks were out. Then he encouraged me to sit up, so he could more easily reach my nipples.

            “You’re so beautiful. Your face, your body, perfect,” he said, stroking my sensitive nipples.

            The attention he was giving my nipples was very good, but he kept dipping a hand down, stroking over my belly.

            “Stop, tickles,” I complained, pulling his hand back up. It didn’t tickle, but I didn’t want his hand down there. The bloating was uncomfortable.

            “You don’t need to be self-conscious of it, Draco. Your body is perfect. Your arse is so perfect, I can’t wait for you to ride me. Everything about you is sizzling hot. You don’t need to bother losing the weight; it suits you.”

            I poked him in the belly. Then I did my best to tickle him there. He started laughing.

            “Alright, fine, I get the point! I’ll lay off,” he said, hands up in a gesture of appeasement.

            Smiling, I guided one of his hands to a nipple and the other to my cock. He got the hint: it was time for him to get me hard again.

            His large calloused hands felt so good on my shaft that once I was hard again, I began to squirm on him, thrusting into his hands. The movement emphasized the feel of the thick cock in my arse and soon had me rocking back and forth in order to make his cock connect with my prostate. I added a roll to the movement, snapping my spine, and then a gyrating sideways movement with my hips. With his cock all the way in, snug against my prostate, I danced.

            It was so unbelievably good. So good, I started thinking I should keep Potter around, for his cock and his hands. Oh and his lips; his lips started sucking on my neck and made my head spin. And then his other hand, on my nipple, that had my movements jerky; just about every time he switched nipples, I had to clench up against pre-mature ejaculation.

            I wanted to make it last, but then when I tried to clench one last time, Potter took over and bucked his hips up, hard. Then he was fucking me from underneath and I was cumming. He flipped me over and started pulling on my cock, to keep me aroused, at the same time he started really pounding into me missionary style. The muscles in my legs started cramping with all the spasms he was sending through my body. My legs must’ve gotten in his way, because he put them over his shoulder and drove toward his orgasm. Half a minute later, he collapsed on top of me, pulsing inside of me, and panting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there’s not much too this chapter besides the sex, but if you all review I’ll work extra hard to get the next chapter out right away. The next one is sort of major, because it’s the one when Harry leaves and Draco doesn’t let him back in, for good this time. I’m eager to flesh it out and could use some inspiration from all of you. I’m thinking the only thing that could make Harry go, is an Auror-type emergency. And we all know how Draco feels about Harry’s job…  
> Please review!


	12. Chapter 12

            “Draco, Love, wake up,” Potter said, shaking my shoulder gently.

            It was Sunday evening. We’d spent the morning together, enjoying each other’s company like old times, only with one big new step: we went out. In concession to his desire to be seen with me, I compromised by letting him take me to a nearby muggle botanical garden in London. Mostly I agreed, because I felt like getting out of the house and no one would ever notice us in muggle London. And it had the added advantage of making Potter think he was winning, when he wasn’t.

            We had an enjoyable stroll through the gardens. Sure he went on one of his boring tangents about what Granger thought the problems with our relationship was—a lack of communicating his wishes on his part—and what he was going to do about it—take me on a real date next weekend and go on about his desire for us to be together, including his dreams of us one day getting married and having a family—but I didn’t burst his bubble with my plans to kick him out of the house again or tell him that his little date was never going to happen. Nor did I explain why a marriage wouldn’t work out, although I did flat out ask him to drop the surrogate discussion, because I _really_ didn’t want to hear it. He’d protested and made an absurd claim that if it was so important to me, he’d take off from work to carry our child, which made me want to hit him, because he still hadn’t considered the possibility that I was capable of that type of love towards a child. But I didn’t want him to know why his comments upset me, so I held my tongue and for the most part I indulged him his little fantasy.

            Our walk was followed by lunch at some horrible muggle street vendor, after which, we apparated back to Grimmauld Place. I was sticky with sweat from the hot sun and wanted a shower. Potter joined me and we started having sex right there in the shower; I could’ve predicted as much from the way his mouth had been all over me. It was hot, hard, and fast at first, but then it became more sensual, slow, and deep. The discomfort of being pounded into the tiles led me to insist a change of venue to his bedroom. We’d continued on the bed, until sated and exhausted, I’d fallen asleep.

            “Hmm?” I asked, cracking open an eye. I thought he’d been napping with me. His arms were around me when I’d fallen asleep.

            “I’ve been called into work. An emergency. I have to go,” he said, rushing about the room as he grabbed his Auror things. He was already wearing his dreaded Auror robes.

            No,” I said in disbelief, my heart pounding in my chest. This couldn’t be happening. This was one of my nightmares. I had to be asleep.

            “Sorry, Love, it’s bad timing, I know, but they need me. There are lives at stake. I’ll be back as soon as it’s over, I promise.”

            “But it’s only Sunday. We haven’t even had dinner yet…” I trailed off in a whisper. We were supposed to have one last weekend together, before I told him that it’s over. I thought I had until morning.

            “I know, I know, the life of an Auror. Don’t worry about our date; I’ll make sure I’m not on call next weekend,” he said, as if I gave a fuck about that. He clearly had no idea why I was upset. “I really have to go. You should call a friend to keep you company.” He leaned in and kissed me. When I didn’t respond to it, he pulled back and looked me in the eyes. “You seem really upset. Is this the first time I’ve been called off like this, for you?”

            I nodded. I knew it happened all of the time for him, but it was the first time since the war that my worst fears were coming true for me.

            “Sorry, Love. You should call Hermione to come wait with you. She’s been through it loads of times. Don’t worry, Ron and I always come home,” he said. He leaned in and kissed me one more time. Before I knew it was happening, before my lips had a chance to meld against his, it was over. Then he was gone, robes billowing behind him as he ran out of the bedroom.

            I reached my arms out after him, wanting to grab him, to pull him back to safety, to stop him from going. But he was already gone.

            In shock, I curled up on myself and wept.

            I don’t know how long I cried, but eventually the tears stopped and it occurred to me that maybe there would be news on the radio. I went down to the drawing room and turned on Potter’s Wizarding Wireless. That was when I heard the breaking news of a standoff between Aurors and a gang who had tried to rob Gringotts. The would be bank robbers hadn’t gotten past the goblins and now were trying to fight their way out of the bank, past the Aurors and hit wizards who had responded to the scene. There weren’t many details, but there were reports of Unforgiveables being fired.

            I was glued to the radio for hours as the same tidbits were repeated over and over again. I missed dinner, which was probably why I was so lightheaded when the reports of an injured Potter being treated on the scene finally made the airways. I was in a daze as I learned that several other Aurors and hit wizards had minor injuries, but Potter was the only one seriously injured in the capture of the four criminals. The criminals were off to Azkaban and Potter was off to St. Mungo’s.

            I hadn’t even gotten a chance to lie to him about the baby…I’d planned to tell him Monday morning. I was going to wait until he was getting ready for work. Then he’d have to go and have no time to argue with me or realize I was lying. But now he was in hospital, probably dying, and he still didn’t know. And worse, I had an incomplete collection of his letters, thanks to his little stunt Saturday. Stupid Potter.

            I wanted him so much, always had. I wanted him enough that I decided to have his child and raise it as a single parent. But I couldn’t give in. I couldn’t live the life he lived. I couldn’t let our child grow up thinking that it was okay to risk his or her life for the greater good. That wasn’t okay. Finding a nice, safe, pleasant job was okay. Marrying someone with a death wish and letting him pass that death wish onto our child was not okay. At least this way, I wouldn’t find myself with a dead child on my hands too.

            I could picture it. “Oh father, aren’t you so proud? I’ve joined the Aurors, just like Daddy. I’ll be dead inside of six months, just like Daddy. Aren’t you proud?” No, I would never be proud of something like that. The thought made my stomach turn. No, I was going to keep this child safe and if that meant depriving him or her of knowing one of the greatest wizards of all time, well then it couldn’t be helped. In all likelihood, Potter would get himself killed long before my precious little bundle could remember anyway. That thought really brought on the tears. Stupid Potter.

            See, this is why Potter and I couldn’t be together. He’d be dead soon and I wasn’t going to be his widower. I wasn’t going to sit at home while he went out and martyred himself. If he wanted to spend his life in St. Mungo’s, then he could just stay there. He wasn’t getting back inside this house; I wasn’t going to let him. I may have been weak before, but I was strong now. There was no way I was going to let him pass on his deficiency to our baby…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, it will be a while before Harry sees Draco again. I feel bad ending it here. But, I promise that up next we will finally get to those series of letters I’ve been planning and Harry will get a crucial piece of the truth. Not the part about the baby being his, but the part about what the problem is and that there is a baby…


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stuff in the italics are the letters going back and forth.

_-Draco Malfoy,_

            _We don’t know each other well, but Harry asked me to let you know that he’s going to be fine. He’s in Spell Damage now. It’s nothing permanent; the healers assure me it should only be a few hours at most until he’s good as new. I tried the floo to tell you in person, but it’s shut down. I tried apparating, but I couldn’t touch the door. You really must tell me how you get Harry’s house to lock me out like this. But back to the point, Harry would like to see you. Please come to St. Mungo’s as soon as you get this._

_-Hermione Granger Weasley_

_-Dear Granger,_

_I won’t be visiting Potter. After this, I never want to see him again._

_-Sincerely, Draco Malfoy_

_-Dear Draco, my Love,_

_I’m so sorry I had to leave like that. I’m getting released today. Won’t you come pick me up, so we can talk about this?_

_-Love, Harry_

_-Dear Potter,_

_First of all, if you are wondering what spell I put on this letter, it is a self-destruct in event of your imminent death. This is to prevent your friends and co-workers from reading our personal communications after you pass._

_No, I will not pick you up. No, I don’t want to talk about it. You didn’t even give me a chance to explain to you what is going on with me, before you left to go get yourself killed. I didn’t want to do this in a letter, but you have left me no choice._

_I cheated on you with my fiancé. She’s pregnant. I’ve asked her for the baby, but she hates you. She doesn’t want the child being raised by you. At this point, I have no choice but to end my relationship with you, for the good of the baby. I will continue to need use of your house for the time being. If things go my way, she will need to hide the pregnancy for the next eight months._

_-Sincerely, Draco_

_-Dear Draco, my Love,_

_What are you talking about? Are you saying you had sex with your ex-fiancé while we were broken up? Because that’s not cheating and you don’t need to worry about something like that. Are you serious she’s pregnant? Are you sure it’s yours? I’m not mad at you, I just want to know that you are sure. I understand the position you are in and I want you to know that I am willing to wait forever for you. And I can appreciate your need to use the house. Don’t worry, Ron and Hermione have said I can stay with them._

_-My enduring love, Harry_

_P.S. My death is not imminent. Your letter did not self-destruct. No need to worry about my visit to St. Mungo’s. It was nothing. The papers are exaggerating. My life was never in any real danger. I did not almost die. I’m fine, honestly._

_-Dear Potter,_

_I know you have said some really stupid things in your life, but I think describing a slashing hex to the carotid as being “fine,” might be the stupidest. The funny thing is, I think all of your stupidest quotes have been said to me. In your will, could you direct whoever will be writing your post-humus biography to contact me, so I can insure that this quote makes it in there? It would be a shame if generations to come were denied this part of you. _

_-Sincerely, Draco_

_-Dear Draco,_

_Ha ha, very funny. And there is no need for the continued spells on your letters, because I won’t be dying anytime soon. But seriously, I had a blood replenishing potion within ten seconds of the curse and there were mediwizards on scene who performed Vulnera Sanentur. I only needed the trip to St. Mungo’s for cosmetic purposes, to remove the scar. My life was never in the balance. It really was nothing. Is this your way of deflecting from the main issue, because you don’t want to talk about whatever is going on in your life?_

_-Love, Harry_

_Dear Potter,_

_You do know that you are an Auror, not a Hit Wizard, right? You are aware of the difference; I trust? Scratch that, I must’ve forgotten who I was writing to. Hit Wizards are the ones who are supposed to put themselves in the line of danger, take the hit, and end up in St. Mungo’s. Aurors are supposed to detect, analyze, and figure out the best plan of action preferably from the sidelines, without getting themselves killed. There were Hit Wizards there. The papers say there was one right next to you. Why didn’t you let him to do his job? Why did you do it for him?_

_And what’s to talk about? I’m going to be a father. Yes, the baby really is mine._

_-Sincerely, Draco_

_Dear Draco, my Love,_

_There wasn’t time. And it wasn’t even a direct hit; barely got the artery at all. I will be happy to explain the details of the situation, if you will agree to meet with me. Can you get away sometime this week? I won’t even press you for details, if you’re not ready to talk about it._

_-Love, Harry_

* * *

 

            I was not answering that one. Did he think I was stupid? If he thought I was fat before, he’d definitely think I was fat now. I’d put on _two_ pounds in the last week, with all the stress he’d caused. If things kept up this way, I’d be as fat as a walrus by the time this baby was born.

 

 

 

* * *

 

_-Dear Draco, my Love,_

_Why haven’t you written me back? It’s been weeks. I am getting really worry about you. At this point I have resorted to checking with Kreacher to make sure you are still alive. Please, could you respond to one on my letters every now and then? Or maybe pick a friend to keep in touch with, who I can ask to verify that you are alright? I know you haven’t been writing them either, because I checked. I even checked with your mother, although she didn’t give me an answer per se. She just said that you asked her not to communicate with me in any way, which I’m guessing means she has been in contact with you. I’m very worried about you. _

_-I Love you, Harry_

_Draco Dearest,_

_Would you mind stopping by the Manor and explaining to me why you kicked Potter out of your home and are not talking to him? I was under the impression that things were going well for your new little family. Does this mean I should scratch those wedding plans? Your father says I should be planning a funeral anyway, although they do tend to be depressing. A wedding is a more cheerful occasion._

_-Love, your mother_

_Dear Potter,_

_Please do not involve my parents in this. Keeping my father from killing you is hard enough without your interference. Most recently he has been telling me of the advantages of Potter disposal in the deep Atlantic. Please never get on a boat with him or go on a fishing or hunting trip of any kind, but do not tell anyone I told you that._

_I think we should stop all communication. You seem to have some delusion that this separation is temporary and that we will be getting back together as soon as the baby is born. That is not going to happen. I can’t live that life, always wondering if you’ll come home alive. I couldn’t even stand being proper boyfriends with you, because every time you left in the morning, I couldn’t help but think that this would be the day you never came home. And then it did happen and you brush it off, like nothing happened, because you didn’t die, you only almost died._

_You want to leave me with a house full of Potter babies and then go running off into battles and you think that is okay. It should have ended when you killed the Dark Lord, this saving the world thing. No one should have to save the world twice. It is someone else’s turn now. But it is you who is refusing to stop, it is you who has to personally bring in every single bad guy. I can’t have a husband who gets himself killed. That’s not fair to the children and it’s not fair to me. I won’t sign up for that. That’s why I keep pushing you away. I’d rather raise this child on my own, than to have you rip my heart into tiny little pieces in the name of justice, or bringing in some bad guy I don’t even care about. That’s your fight. It was never mine._

_-Sincerely, Draco_

_-Dear Draco, my Love,_

_Oh… I didn’t know you felt that way…_

_Alright. I’m going to fix this, I’ll find a way, but alright. I will leave you alone, for the time being. But once I have set everything right, I am going to win you back. If you are ever feeling down or alone, please remember that I love you with everything that I am. I’ll drop everything if you need me._

_-My undying love, Harry_

_P.S. Your last letter disintegrated on me moments after I read it. If you tweaked the spell or something, please tweak it back, because I am still very much alive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of the letters? I have another set of letters that leads us up to when Harry finds out the full truth coming up next. If you all review letting me know you’re read the chapter and are keeping up, I’ll post the second set of letters later this week.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another series of letters.

_-Dear Selfish Git._

_You’re an arse. You should know that Harry put himself on desk duty today. He also gave our boss his six month notification that they find him a non-lethal permanent assignment or he’s leaving the Auror Corps. Harry James Potter is threatening to leave the Aurors, over you, you selfish twat. And for what? Because you’ve knocked up some pureblood skank and he wants to adopt it? Because you won’t marry him? What the fuck is wrong with you?_

_-Ronald Weasley_

_-Dear Ginger Twit,_

_I never asked Potter to do any of that. I will never understand why he wasn’t given desk duty after almost bleeding out at Gringotts, but that is beside the point. I was always very clear with him that all I wanted from him was sex. No amount of mushy ditherings on his part can make up for his extreme suffusion of rash intrepidity. I will continue to rebuff his advances, as long as his death wish remains intact. I suggest you and Granger get him in to some sort of mental counseling for his problem, if you would like your friend to live. I am sharing this with you, because he does not listen to me. Maybe he will understand, “No,” if he hears it from you. Or better yet, Granger. Please share my concern with your wife. Not for me, but for Potter. He has a serious problem._

_-Draco Malfoy_

_-Dear Idiotic Moron,_

_It’s called bravery, you tosser. What Harry has that you will never have, is called Bravery._

_-Ronald Weasley_

_-Dear Ginger Twit,_

_Yes, exactly. You seem to understand the situation perfectly. If only you could clue Potter in? His constant pestering is annoying._

_-Draco Malfoy_

_-Dear Draco Malfoy,_

_Please excuse my husband. I am soo, so sorry for his behavior. I am a bit concerned about the discrepancy between what I am seeing of Harry’s behavior and what you are seeing. Has he nearly gotten himself killed again and not told us?_

_-Hermione Granger Weasley_

_-Dear Granger,_

_Again? Isn’t once enough? To answer your question, no, I am not aware of any additional instances of him trying to get himself killed, other than what is public record. I am referring to the annual accounts of his near death in the papers since the age of eleven, including the most recent one at Gringotts, and the fact that he gleefully reports to a job every morning that would have him dead, if he didn’t have all that blind luck. That and he likes it. That is not the sort of mental defect I want passed on to my offspring and it’s not the sort of thing I can tolerate in a spouse, due to the anxiety levels it causes in me. I have tried my best to make this clear to Potter, but he doesn’t listen to me. I am not stupid enough to think I could change him and his little experiment with a desk seems doomed to fail to me. But, I don’t like the thought that his next near death experience could be his last, so I would like to encourage you, as his friend, to seek help for him. _

_-Sincerely, Draco Malfoy_

_-Dear Draco, my Love,_

_I’ve been working the desk for two weeks now and you will be pleased to know that I have not engaged in any activity that might lead to my death in that time. At Hermione’s suggestion, apparently after some prodding from you, I have entered mental counseling for my adrenalin addiction and alleged lack of self-worth. I would like you to know that I do not in fact, have a death wish. I may have a saving people thing and I am getting help for that. And because I know it matters so much to you, I will no longer be risking my life for anyone other than you, see mention of the desk job. I am doing everything you’ve asked of me. Won’t you meet me for dinner on Friday?_

_-Eternally yours, Harry_

_-Dear Potter,_

_I never asked any of that of you. You need to deal with your mental issues for yourself, before you can think about me. I will not be meeting you for dinner Friday._

_-Sincerely, Draco_

_-Dear Draco, my Love,_

_Saturday then? I long to show you how I’ve changed._

_-Love, Harry_

_-Dear Potter,_

_I look forward to reading of your acts of cowardice in the papers, since you say you have changed. Until then, stop asking me for dinner. Please._

_-Sincerely, Draco_

_-Dear Selfish Arsehole,_

_Harry is miserable without you, despite my urging him to move on. When are you going to let him move back into his own home? I’m sick of him moping around my place. Also, he keeps rambling about how he can get reporters to notice him not endangering his life, because of something you said. You are aware that working a desk doesn’t typically make it onto the front page, you stupid fuck?_

_-Ronald Weasley_

_-Dear Ginger Twit,_

_It’s only been two months, which means seven more. The healer says it is a healthy baby. I heard the heartbeat yesterday._

_-Draco Malfoy_

_-Dear Draco, my Love,_

_Ron told me that the baby is healthy! And you heard the heartbeat? That’s great news! Why didn’t you write me directly? We should get together and plan for the adoption. It would be good if we could talk about it in person._

_-Eternally yours, Harry_

_-Dear Potter,_

_This is getting really annoying. We are not getting back together. You’ve barely started your treatment and are in no position to make such a life altering decision. I am having the baby, as a single father, without you. You are not adopting my baby. However, you could give an interview letting your fans know that you are turning over a new leaf, with your new job, and how important it is for those with an impaired self-preservation instinct to seek professional help. It would be inspirational for others with a similar problem to see the Savior of the Wizarding World getting help and all of those children who have been falsely thinking that following in your footsteps is cool, might realize that their own lives matter too. Think of the children._

_-Sincerely, Draco_

_-Dear Draco, my Love,_

_Sorry for the presumptions. I understand that you need time. I’ll just give you some space. Please let me know when you’ve had enough space._

_-Eternally yours, Harry_

_-Dear Potter,_

_I will._

_Sincerely, Draco_

_-Dear Draco, my Love,_

_Please enjoy this article in the Quibbler. I took your suggestion and gave an interview. Please owl me if you’d like to have dinner this Friday._

_-Eternally yours, Harry_

_-Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Draco is in hospital. You need to end whatever childish avoidance of responsibilities that is going on here. Please meet me at the café inside St. Mungo’s for lunch today so we can discuss this issue. The food is lacking, but since I will be too busy caring for Draco and filling in for you, it will have to do._

_-Sincerely, Narcissa Malfoy_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll leave it to you all to imagine what Narcissa says to Harry, but basically she’s going to spill the beans, all of them. Now comes the part when Harry knows everything. As I mentioned before, I wrote the basis for this story very quickly, including this chapter and the next. This one was pretty good, but when I looked over the next one, I realized it isn’t any good. It’s not up to the level of the rest of this story and that isn’t okay, especially because of what a major turning point in this story it is. It’s not funny, but Draco has been hospitalized, so it’s hard to make that funny. And the whole thing reads as anticlimactic and it shouldn’t. So I could really use some inspiration from all of you. If I don’t figure this out soon, you will be getting a very short partial chapter cliff-hanger style, to give me more time to get it right.  
> Please review!


	15. Chapter 15

            “Draco?” Potter asked softly, coming into my hospital room.

            I groaned. “Mother did this, then?” I asked, hands protectively over my swollen belly and taking deep, calming breaths. The healers said I needed to stay calm. The stress wasn’t good for the baby or my condition.

            “Yeah. She told me not to upset you. Please don’t get upset; I’m not mad or anything, I just don’t want you to lose the baby,” he said.

            “She’s been interfering my whole life. Mothers,” I said exasperated. Potter finding out that I was pregnant was the last thing I needed when I was supposed to be keeping calm.

            Potter shrugged. “Mrs. Weasley does that too.” After a pause, he added, “Are you feeling better now?”

            “Yes. And before Granger goes looking up preeclampsia and scaring you about possible fatalities, you should know that I have a mild case and they caught it early. You don’t need to worry your pretty little head off or anything.”

            “Oh?”

            “Yes. As a matter of fact, I was just the teeniest bit dizzy. I wouldn’t have come in, except my blood pressure was just a bit too high at my last check-up and they gave me a list of symptoms to watch out for. They got my blood pressure under control with a special potion, so holding me here is just a formality,” I continued.

            “So when your mother said your blood pressure was through the roof when you came in?”

            “She said that?”  
            “Yes.”

            “Mothers, what can you do?” I shrugged.

            “So you’re not denying it?” he pressed.

            “Nothing to deny. It’s under control now and they are giving me a potion to take every day to keep it that way. I’m following orders, keeping my stress level down and getting lots of bed rest.”

            “Good.”

            “What else did my mother tell you?” I asked.

            “It doesn’t really matter. You’re having my baby and I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize that. This is what I’ve wanted my whole life! So whatever you need, I’ll be. If you need me to go so that you can rest, I can do that.” He gulped. “Even if you need me not to come back. I’ll leave you alone this time, I promise.”

            I sighed. “She told you it’s yours, then?” I asked.

            “Once she told me that you were six months pregnant, it was pretty obvious it was mine.”

            “Yeah.” I was afraid of that.

            “So, um, I could just sit quietly over there, if you’d like?” he offered, pointing to a chair.

            “Sure.”

            He sat. I stared. After all this time, all my planning, it was over. Potter found out, thanks to my own mother and a spell of preeclampsia.

            After ten minutes of silent staring, I asked, “Did my mother mention if she’d let me come home yet?”

            “She was pretty insistent that I need to move back in and take care of you. The house let me back in, so I could get things ready for you. I saw the nursery, by the way; it’s beautiful.”

            “Watch out for my father and Grandmother Black: they want to kill you. Grandmother Black wants you dead more, but my father is more capable,” I warned.

            He nodded. “Noted. I’m doing this thing where I avoid people who want me dead. My therapist taught me.” He sounded proud of himself, like this was some sort of accomplishment on his part.

            “Good to know.”

            “Did you see the interview I gave in the Quibbler about my safe desk job?” he asked.

            “How could I miss it? You sent me a copy.”

            “Well my new job is super exciting. I’m no longer just pushing papers.” Then he proceeded to ramble on about the details of his desk job. It involved analyzing old case files, trying to solve the impossible. The best part was he wasn’t allowed out in the field, so if there was something that actually needed to be done outside of the office, he parsed it out to the active Aurors.

            “See, I knew you could come up with a way not to kill yourself, if you tried,” I said. As opposed to all of the many ways he’d come up with to almost get himself killed.

            “And I’m learning that I need to assess a dangerous situation, before _turning and fleeing_. My life it too valuable to risk to save other people. I need to stay alive for you…you and our baby.”

            “You should’ve known that one all along. Dumbledore should’ve smacked it into you when you were eleven,” I said.

            “He wasn’t really that type. Snape would’ve been better suited for the task,” he offered jovially.

            We were both silent for a time, recollection of a fallen hero on both of our minds. I still missed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, it’s not very good; not climatic or dramatic, not even funny. But with Draco’s condition, a calm reveal was necessary. I’m surprised no one caught on to Draco’s symptoms that night Harry got back in the house: fever, dizziness, seeing double.  
> Anyway, everything I had written between here and the birth needs to be rewritten to make it better. Any ideas or feedback? Your reviews do wonders for jogging my imagination.


	16. Chapter 16

            After a long while, Potter asked, “Do you know yet if it’s a boy or a girl?”

            “No, how would I know that?” I asked with a scowl.

            “Oh, in the muggle world they can tell. I guess they can’t tell in the wizarding world?”

            “Well, sort of. There is a spell, but it’s not always right. I’d rather not know than think it’s one and find out it’s the other.”

            “Alright.”

            “I can’t come up with a name for a girl though…I need a name for each. I can come up with all sorts of names I like for boys, but not girls.”

            “Lily!” He jumped excitedly. “I vote Lily!”

            “Well, how about we do this? If it’s a girl, you name her. You need a middle name too, not just Lily. Something that sounds nice in front of Malfoy.”

            “Alright, yeah.”

            “Nothing stupid, like Harriette or Harrietta.”

            “Ew, no, never. Nothing like that,” he agreed.

            “If it’s a boy, I name him. Whatever I want and you don’t get a say.”

            “Just as long as you don’t pick Harry,” he said.

            “Deal,” I confirmed.

            “I like the yellow in the nursery. It’s nice and sunny,” he changed the subject.

            Then Potter complimented the mural I’d painted in the nursery. He followed that up by mentioning the other paintings I’d done recently; what else was I supposed to spend my days doing?

            But then he got to his point, “It’s just that I don’t think paint fumes are good for the baby. This pamphlet your mother gave me about preeclampsia,” he pulled a folded pamphlet out of his pocket, “said that it has to do with the placenta, with the baby not getting enough blood and nutrients, so I don’t think paint fumes are a good idea on top of that. And the floors were all…I don’t even know what you did to the floors. It looks nice, don’t get me wrong, the place looks great, but sanding isn’t good for you either. And you varnished them too, didn’t you? I definitely don’t think varnish is good. And then moving out all of that old furniture and moving that expensive stuff in? Merlin, I’m afraid to sit on the sofa, for fear I’ll get it dirty.”

            “I charged it to your account and had Kreacher do the moving,” I said.

            “Oh, good. Well then that’s not so bad. Just so we’re clear, I’ll take over the renovations from here. Do you need me to fix anything else up? I know it was old and run-down before, but it looks really, really good now. And you got the elf heads down? And you moved Sirius’ mum up to the attic? That alone is worth being kicked out of my house for two months. That and getting a baby.”

            “I moved all of the old antiques up to the attic too. I know you love that troll-leg umbrella stand, but it’s tacky.”

            “Fine. Teddy’s always tripping over it anyway,” he replied.

            “I was mostly done. A professional needs to be called in to fix the tapestry in the drawing room though, or it might be time to have a new one made. I couldn’t do anything for it.”

            Potter agreed to look into it.

            “But other than that, Kreacher and Marty pretty much fixed everything up,” I concluded.

            “Marty?” he asked.

            “Your new elf. He’s Kreacher’s son; I bought him for you. With your money, that is.”

            Potter hadn’t been aware that Kreacher had family, so I filled him in. My Great Aunt sold Kreacher’s son, who was at the time too young to work, and Kreacher’s wife, who was rather barmy and useless.

            Knowing how Potter felt about elves, I decided to buy the son back. He appreciated it, but was distressed about the wife, wanting to know if she was still alive and if he could buy her too. She was and he couldn’t. He wanted more details, likely of a mind to go on a rescue mission to save the elf, but I refused to give them. If there ever came a time when the owners were willing to give up the elf, I’d let Potter know, but until then, I wasn’t going to indulge or encourage whatever elf-centered neuroses Granger had started.

            Then I sort of went off on a rant about how I didn’t want him passing said elf-centered neuroses on to our child. “We’re not married, we were never dating, I never agreed to put up with your inane misconceptions regarding the wizarding world, caused by your muggle upbringing and your long-term friendship with Granger and Weasley. Not my problem,” I finished.

            “Okay…Not your problem, as long as you stay calm and calmly keep supplying our baby with blood and nutrients,” he said soothingly.

            “If you want to be involved, fine. But you’re like the weird speccy uncle, not an equal partner. My baby, my rules.”

            “Couldn’t we share the baby? We made it together. I love you.”

            “Have you learned how to love yourself?” I asked pointedly.

            “I’m working on it.”

            “Then no, we can’t share. I don’t want your mental defects being passed along.” My rant continued, but I prefer to deny saying pretty much everything else I said. In fact, I didn’t say the speccy uncle thing earlier. That didn’t happen. Come to think of it, I wasn’t the one refusing to share the baby either; that was just a bad dream Potter had.

            Okay, there was one inspired bit where I insisted that things had to be my way, or, “-in eleven years we’ll be getting a call from Hogwarts that our child was eaten by a three-headed dog, in order to save Filch’s cat. Oh sure, we pulled the little guy out, washed her off and she’s good as new…”

            By the end of it, I had Potter eating out of my hand and ready to wrap our child with a bubble charm.

            “I’ll take your cue, if you’d like,” he conceded. “But I think you’re a little too worked up. Don’t you think you should rest now?”

            “Later, I want to finish saying this. I don’t want to have fights with you all the time either. It’s not good for her to hear us fighting, so I’ll just decide everything, yeah?” I waited for him to agree, but he just looked at me with his wide, green eyes magnified by his glasses.

            The rest of the rant I vehemently deny having said. I blame it on the pregnancy hormones making me say things I didn’t mean. I don’t know why I said the crazy things I said.

            While I spoke, he got up and studied my monitors. “Isn’t this monitor here your blood pressure spell? That number’s awfully high, don’t you think?” he asked, pointing.

            I looked at it. “Shite.” And I’d already had the daily dose of potion to lower it.

            “Exactly, so no more talking about the future. What we need to do is relax.”

            That was end of the excitement for the day. I took a long nap and woke up with a much lower blood pressure, but by then Potter had had the healer in to look at my blood pressure readings from earlier. So I had to spend the rest of my hospital stay calmly reading and not worrying about the future or what I’d said to Potter. And when the tears started and I turned into a blubbering emotional wreck remembering what I’d said and wanted to take it all back, Potter forgave me and said we could pretend it never happened. So you see, I really didn’t say those things I said. You can ask Potter. He’ll even tell you that I wasn’t particularly mean to him either. In fact, he told Weasley via floo that I was being nice to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Finally finished. I had all of Draco’s rant written out, but they really bogged the chapter down, so I decided to summarize instead. I hope it worked.


	17. Chapter 17

            “So what do you want to do now that you’re home? Rest in your bed, or mine?” Potter asked me when I was finally released and back at Grimmauld Place.

            “Neither. I’d like to rest in the nursery. I haven’t seen it in a while,” I answered, heading towards the stairs.

            “Here, let me carry you.” He moved his body in front of me just as I reached the stairs.

            I blinked at him, wondering if he was for real. “It’s just a few stairs.”

            “Two flights is not a few. The nursery is on the fourth floor. Either you let me carry you, or you floo from here to there.”

            “Seriously?”

            “Um, yeah. You are aware that you just spent three days in Hospital?”

            “Oh no, I had no idea.” I raised my hands to my cheeks in mock surprise.

            “So resting, not stairs.” He held his arms out for me.

            I was in a sappy mood and caved, wrapping my arms around his neck. It was kind of nice being carried up the stairs, even if he did make strained noises the whole way up.

            “I don’t remember you being so weak,” I said as he put me down on the fourth floor landing with a huff.

            “Carrying two is harder than carrying one. I need to work out more. You know, the gym is generally considered non-lethal,” he informed me, rushing ahead to hold open the door to the nursery for me. He made it sound like he was studying up on non-lethal hobbies.

            “Uh-huh.”

            “Now how do you want to do this? I could have Kreacher move your bed in here, or I could have him buy a new one, or I could conjure a bed. I think moving your bed is best, because you already know it’s comfortable.”

            “I want to sit here, put my feet up, and look! My new catalog has come. See Marty has some sense in him: he put it just where I wanted it.” As I spoke, I relaxed in the cushy rocking chair and picked up the indicated catalog. The rocker had a nice, deep taupe upholstery that went well with the yellow, but was dark enough that baby messes wouldn’t stand out. 

            “The healer recommended that you rest on your side, lying down. The left side is best. I don’t know why, she just said the left side…”

            “Yeah, well, I did enough of that in hospital, yeah?” Getting back into bed was about the last thing I wanted to do at the moment and I was liable to flip out on him if he insisted. “At the moment, I want to rest on my fat arse and read my catalog. Oh look! Isn’t that cute!” Having flipped to the first page, I pointed to a set with bluebird appliques.

            “Yeah. Is there a store somewhere where I can buy these things?”

            “No need; order form’s on the back. How do you think I bought all this?” I made an all-encompassing motion, to indicate all of the furniture in the room.

            “You went to some high end, fancy pureblood place that sells baby furniture?”

            “No, I found a high end, fancy pureblood catalog, picked out some things I liked that went with the antique Black nursery set in the attic, and sent in my order to have it all refurbished.” I pointed to a stack of old catalogs on the dresser.

            “This is the old Black nursery set? No fucking way…” he said, bending down to examine the carving on the crib.

            “Mmm-hmmm.” I perused my catalog, glad I’d distracted Potter. So many choices.

            “I can’t believe you did all of this. Do you think this is the crib my god-father slept in?”

            “Mmm-hmmm.”

            “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Draco. I loved this room before, but I didn’t know you went to all that work! I mean, I knew it was a lot of work, but not this much!”

            “Potter?”

            “Yes, Draco?”

            “Could you shut up? I’m trying to decide if this lace is too girly for a boy. It says it’s not; says it can be charmed a variety of boy colors, in addition to the girl colors, but then they’re trying to sell it to me, yeah? And it looks a little too…but then the plain one, here, that one’s far too plain. No Malfoy would be caught in that one. But this one?”  
            He leaned in, his head pressed against mine as he looked at the lacey sweater. “It’s gorgeous. If we have a girl, you should definitely get one. See, pink, violet, lavender, lilac, rose; perfect for a Lily.” He pointed to the bit of the description with the colors.

            “Yes, but what if it’s a boy?”

            “That flowery sweater for a boy? No, get that for Lily. Our son should have one of the other ones.”

            “We’re only getting one or the other,” I informed him.

            “Yes, but there’s always the next baby. We should keep trying, until we have one of each.”

            “You’re not the one with preeclampsia stuck on bed rest.”

            “I could be. I have a desk job now.”

            I eyed him skeptically. “You’d have preeclampsia too. It’s the baby with the defective placenta.”

            He shrugged.

            “Well, anyway, I’m not sticking my cock up your arse,” I proclaimed.

            He shrugged again. “According to that pamphlet I read on male pregnancy, it’s the combination of semen in the anal cavity, not the cock, that does the trick.”

            “My mother give you that one too?”

            “No, I found it while you were sleeping.”

            “Good for you. So, I think what I need to do, is make two lists. No, three. One of things that I want in either case and can order now, that way we have a few things. And then two more lists, so that all I have to do is send one in, once the baby’s born.”

            “Brilliant. Or, we could just buy it all…”

            “And end up with two little boys and no one to wear the flowery lace?”

            “Three kids is good too.”

            “I want to punch you right now,” I bit out, between clenched teeth. Just that quickly and my mood had changed.

            “Or not! No, definitely not! You need to keep calm and rest! No having three children; that’s neither here nor there. We’re having this one. Three lists it is. I could even send in the correct list for you, the very moment we know. Let me fetch some parchment.”

            He hustled off to do just that. Maybe I wouldn’t punch him. Maybe I’d just look at another page of lacey sweaters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank all of you wonderful readers for taking the time to review! You provide the inspiration I need to keep cranking out these chapters :)  
> Please let me know if this story starts getting boring. Right now I am planning fluff until the baby is born, but I don’t want it to get too fluffy.


	18. Chapter 18

            “Oh, hello Harry, dear,” my mother greeted as her head popped up in our drawing room fireplace the next day. Harry was front and center, taking measurements of the family tree. He needed the measurements to send to the contractor, because he was having a new one made. I was in the corner looking over an old Black family photo album, so Mother didn’t see me right away.

            “Mrs. Malfoy?” Potter returned, surprised at her sudden appearance.

            “I wanted a word with my son. But first, how is he treating you?” Mother asked.

            “Great!” he fibbed.

            Mother’s head eyed him suspiciously. “Really?”

            “Uh-huh,” he persisted.

            “Tell me about it,” she countered.

            “Wh- Huh?” Potter, loquacious as ever.

            “Tell me _how_ my son has been treating you ‘Great,’ as you put it,” Mother insisted, not believing him. Was it so hard to believe I was being nice to him?

            “Well, he’s making me a baby. That’s pretty great,” he answered.

            “Good save, Potter,” I said.

            “Oh Draco! I didn’t see you there! How have you been feeling?” Mother asked, her head turned towards me now.

            The usual appeasing of the parental figure followed: a lot of words, without much meaning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s very short, but I should have the next one up soon. Please review, so I know everyone has read this one and is ready for the next!


	19. Chapter 19

            “Draco, Love?” Harry asked, coming into the kitchen, where I was attempting to find the perfect mix of ingredients for ice cream. I had bowls of vanilla all over the table, each with a different combination of peanut butter, cream cheese, bananas, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, caramel, butterscotch, gummy bears, whipped cream, walnuts, almonds, peanuts, cashews, pistachios, and hazelnuts. So far I’d ruled out gummy bears, for going all hard when frozen, and hazelnuts, because they didn’t taste good right now. There were a lot of foods that tasted wonky, due to my pregnancy. I was close to eliminating butterscotch in favor of caramel, but that was the extent of my progress.

            “Yes?” I asked, licking a spoon. “Mmmm, you have to try this one.” I scooped up a bit more and held it out to him.

            “What is it?”

            “Every berry we have, peanut butter, and pistachios.”

            He tried it. “Mmm, ‘tis good. I’ll take that bowl.” He reached for it and I handed it over. I had enough to share.

            I went to the next. “Yuck!” I spat it back out. “This one’s for the elves. Kreacher!”

            “What is it?” Potter asked.

            “Yes Master?” Kreacher asked.

            “Take this ice cream. Eat it if you wish,” I said to the elf, before turning to Potter. “Peanut butter, caramel, cream cheese, and butterscotch. Bad combination.”

            “If you say so.”

            “I do,” I said before trying another bowl. Finding it pleasant, I began to eat it. “Is there something you wanted?” I asked, motioning towards him with my spoon. “Besides the ice cream, that is?”

            “Yes. Um…Draco.”

            I paused between bites to say, “Spit it out, Potter.”  

            “Right, well, I was just wondering, if, er, ah, does the baby ever…move?”

            “Yes,” I answered and took another bite. When I swallowed, I realized what he wanted. “Oh! You want to feel, that’s what you’re getting at.”

            “Yes,” he admitted sheepishly.

            “Okay, sure, just hand me back your ice cream. That one was better than this one, so we can trade,” I said, holding out my bowl.

            He took the bowl, I pulled up my shirt, took his bowl, and rested the good ice cream on my overgrown abdomen. Then I went back to eating.

            Potter looked at me like I was a dragon guarding a nest of eggs. “You can touch. Just so long as your hands aren’t cold, I won’t breathe any fire on you.” I took another bite.

            He nodded, put down the bowl of okay ice cream, and then cleaned and warmed his hands with a pair of spells. Only then did he touch my baby bump.

            “Is she moving?” he asked.

            “No, not right this second, but she’s always moving. Give her a second. She’s probably trying to help me figure out which bowl of ice cream I should finish.”

            “Come on, little one, it’s your speccy dad. Won’t you kick for me?” he asked, moving his hands around my belly.

            “You said it, not me. I didn’t say it. We both agreed that I never said anything at all about your glasses,” I said defensively.

            “Of course.”

            I felt a movement then, lower down. I put my spoon back in my bowl, grabbed his hand, and moved it down, under my belly button.

            “What are you doing? If this is your way of asking for a handjob, I think we should wait until after you’ve finished your ice cream or it will all go to waste.”

            “No, she was kicking me there. Just leave your hand there for a while.” I picked up my spoon and went back to eating.

            “Oh yeah, I’ll just leave my hand here, or maybe try just a bit lower, and then if she doesn’t kick it, I’ll get kicked from the other side, by your dick. As long as my hand gets kicked, right?” he asked sarcastically.

            “She’s a Malfoy; she won’t be ordered about. When she feels like kicking you, she’ll kick you. When she feels like eating ice cream, she’ll do that too.”

            “And when she wants your dick rubbed,” he suggested, wiggling his fingers further south.

            I jumped up, dumping my bowl of ice cream on him in the process.

            “Hey, what was that for?” he asked, pulling the bowl off of his chest, ice cream matted in his chest hair.

            “For being a jerk. She really was kicking down there! And I was trying to eat my ice cream, not get fresh with you,” I answered angrily.

            “Oh, well now you can lick your ice cream off of my chest.”

            “Fuck you, Potter. Stop being perverted, when I’ve a table of ice cream to deal with! Go clean up while I find another bowl I like,” I said, turning back to my work.

            “Yuck; frozen cashews! Kreacher!” I called and the elf materialized. “Take all of the ones with cashews.”

            Potter harrumphed, cleaned himself with a spell, and was just walking out of the kitchen when the baby kicked me again.

            “Oi! She kicked me! Just now, right where your hand was,” I called.

            “Really? Can I feel? I promise not to try anything fresh this time,” he said.

            I agreed and guided his hand back to the spot, but she’d already stopped kicking.

            A minute later Potter said, “Oh well, I guess I’ll try again later.”

            “Sure, but in the meantime, could you taste all of these and tell me which one is the best?” Creating ice cream flavors was hard work and my enthusiasm for it was waning.

            “Alright.” He picked a bowl and dug in. “Not this one; too many nuts.”

            “Yeah, I put every type of nut, but cashew and hazelnut, in that bowl. Call Kreacher to take it away.”

            Now we were a quarter of the bowls down. “I wish you hadn’t spilled my favorite down your front. It might take me forever to find another I like so well,” I said, after Kreacher left.

            “Yeah, clumsy me, making you jump like that and all.” He took a bite. “Hey, this one isn’t too bad. Raspberries, bananas, and caramel.”

            I tried it. “Needs peanut butter or cream cheese.” I went looking for the bowls with those combinations. They were both delicious. “I can’t decide which I like better.” I shrugged and decided to mix the two together. Then I sat down to eat it.

            “I’m glad I could help.”

            “Oh! Oi, your hand and hurry. Right there,” I said, once again pressing his hand to where the baby was kicking me on the underside of my belly, this time even lower down. It was just above where the curve of my belly met my groin.

            This time his face lit up. “Is that her? Lily! I feel you baby. Oh, I’m so glad you finally kicked for me. I thought your father was making it up so I’d suck his dick,” he paused here, owing to the fact that I smacked him on the head.

  
            “No talking like that in front of the baby,” I chastised.

            “Sorry, sorry baby girl. Speccy Dad won’t talk about that around your precious ears again. Just as long as your father does let me, you know. There’s no rule about doing that to him with you around, I hope.”

            “Not that I’m aware of,” I said, in between bites. “Maybe I’ll let you when I finish eating.”

            “Is your father’s entire lunch today composed of ice cream?” he asked the baby.

            “Yes, but I’ll have you know that I put all of the food groups in it,” I answered for the baby.

            “Even Vegetables?”

            “That’s not a food group. Plant and animal are the two food groups.”

            “What about mushrooms? What are they?”

            “Plant.”

            “No they’re not.”

            “Then what do you think they are, inedible?”

            “Vegetables…wait, no, that’s not right either. Alright, I don’t know.”

            “Like I said, I have plants in here: bananas and raspberries. Then the cream and milk is animals. All of the food groups in the perfect meal.”

            “Right…just as long as our baby is happy,” he said, leaning in and kissing my bump.

            “She is.”

            I went back to my eating, but Potter kept kissing the baby and it started getting distracting. Then my cock got interested and a second later, he was pulling me out, right there in his kitchen, and licking me. I had to put my bowl down for fear I’d spill when he engulfed my shaft, plunging that hot mouth of his down to my base. My hand reached out looking for something to hold on to as he began bobbing up and down. I accidentally knocked over a spoon. It went clattering to the floor, splattering ice cream everywhere.

            “Ow!” I complained.

            “What? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” he asked, having pulled off right away.

            “Your baby kicked me, right where your head was. I think she tried to kick you in the head. Didn’t you feel it?” I asked, rubbing my belly where she’d kicked.

            “Barely. I’m sorry she hurt you,” he said, before leaning into my belly again. “Hey you in there, no hurting your father. I love him.”

            “Okay you sap, now get back to sucking my cock,” I said, pushing on his head.

            “I thought you said not in front of the baby.”

            “I’m not speaking into my belly, now am I? Suck.”

            He did as command and I was soon shooting a load off in his mouth. Then he picked me up, wrapped my legs around his waist, and carried me up to the drawing room. I thought he was going to carry me all the way up to his bed for a fuck, but instead he held me in his arms on the sofa and stroked my body. When he got around to my back, my moans encouraged him until he was giving me a full out back massage.

            After the blow job and the back rub, I was putty in his hands as he pulled out his cock and began to rut against my arse. He didn’t put it in, but it was no matter, because two minutes of dry humping me had him cumming.

            “You know? I think I’m in the mood for some ice cream,” he said when he’d recovered from blowing his load.

            “Some of it might not be melted yet if we hurry,” I replied.

            He carried me back downstairs, on his back this time. Sure enough the elves (probably Marty because he was the one with sense) had cast a freezing charm on the table, saving what was savable of the treat. I grabbed another bowl, while Harry found my abandoned half-eaten bowl of raspberry banana caramel peanut butter cream cheese.

            “You sucked me off to distract me! You wanted my bowl of ice cream!” I accused.

            “That and your cock,” he replied with a wink.

            I shrugged. This new bowl I was eating, peanut butter, caramel, loads of berries, and sprinkled with walnuts was pretty good too.


	20. Chapter 20

            “Harry! Harry! Where are you? Are you here?” a female voice called from downstairs.

            I was in the nursery reading a book about caring for babies. I was slow to get up and make my way to the stairwell, but when I did, I called down, “He’s not here. Who is there?”

            “Oh Draco!” Granger materialized on the stairs. Her voice was rushed as she hurried up, half out of breath. “It’s good to finally see you again! I would’ve come sooner, but Harry asked me to stay away and give you some space. Where is he?”

            “He’s gone to work. He was driving me crazy with his hovering. I threatened him with a slashing hex if he didn’t get out of my hair,” I answered as I observed her state. She looked worried, frantic almost. And she had something large tucked inside her cloak.

            “Harry!” Granger said it like she was proffering his name up to the gods for retribution or something. She added a groan onto the end, for good measure.

            “What have you inside your cloak there?” I asked suspiciously.

            Red and flustered, like she was being caught, Granger removed a large wall clock from her cloak. Its hands had the faces of various people and they pointed to times labeled as, “Home,” “Traveling,” “Work,” “Other,” and “Mortal Peril.” Granger’s hand was pointing to, “Other,” Potter’s to, “Traveling,” and Weasley’s to, “Mortal Peril.” As I looked at it, Potter’s hand jumped to, “Work,” and Granger sighed in relief.

            “Probably went to fetch lunch,” she said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

            “Why is Weasley in mortal peril?” I asked pointedly.

            She groaned. “I don’t know! I came to find Harry and ask him to check with work. Ron hates it when I go in to check on him! But now I’ll have to.”

            “So Weasley was at his highly dangerous and potentially deadly, ‘Work,’” I pointed to the corresponding time on the clock, “and then he switched over to, ‘Mortal Peril?’”

            “Yes.”

            “And Potter is at, ‘Work,’ and soon to move over to, ‘Mortal Peril,’ too!” I exclaimed as I started to hyperventilate.

            “Draco! Calm down! It’s going to be okay. Just breathe!” Granger had her arms wrapped around me, without even asking if I was alright with her touching me. I wasn’t, for the record.

            “If he hasn’t already followed Weasley, he will as soon as you show up asking questions! Then my father will be right and I won’t even get _one_ picture of Potter holding the baby before he gets himself killed!” I wailed piteously and completely broke down.

            “Alright, calm down. I’m just going to apparate us over to St. Mungo’s. Are you ready?” Granger asked, wrapping her arm more tightly around me.

            What choice did I have? I felt feint with worry and was a blubbering mess. I nodded and she apparated.

            Minutes later, I was in a hospital bed in the paternity ward with a healer forcing Calming Draught down my throat. Then my breathing evened out and I lay back, trying not to pass out, for fear that Potter would be dead when I wake.

            “Draco, are you feeling better now?” Granger asked, her mane of bushy hair materializing in front of my face.

            “Is Potter dead yet?” I asked in return.

            “No, still at work, see?” Granger pulled out her clock again. Potter was at work and Weasley was in mortal danger, just as before. “I am going to fetch him and bring him here, before I tell him what is going on with Ron. Once he sees you like this, there is no way he’ll go after Ron. The other Aurors will just have to do it for once.”

            “If you get him killed, I will never forgive you. I want a family photo of the three of us, with him alive,” I replied sleepily.

            She nodded and then left.

            I lost the battle to keep my eyes open. I drifted off for an unknown amount of time. A disturbance that sounded and felt a lot like Potter woke me. He was hugging me, cupping my face with his hands, and asking what happened.

            “Hmm?” I asked groggily, blinking open my eyes.

            “I’m so sorry, Harry. I shouldn’t have gone to your house looking for you. It was so _stupid_ of me; the clock said you were _traveling_ , not _home_. _Traveling_!” Granger’s shrill voice.

            “Why did you come, Hermione? Now that I’m here, what did you want me for in the first place? You can’t keep hiding it from me,” Potter replied.

            “Before you say or do anything, keep in mind that your boyfriend is in mortal peril too. If you cause him anymore stress, he could lose the baby and no one wants that.”

            “Just spit it out, Hermione. I’m not going anywhere. Whatever it is, someone else can handle it. Draco needs me right now and our baby comes first,” Potter said.

            Granger pulled out her clock, Weasley still in mortal peril. “I already spoke to the other Aurors before I fetched you, Harry. Ron and his partner were on a mission today. Ron was taken captive, but his partner got away and already called for help, before I got there. They are already working on getting him back.”

            “Ron’s in danger!” Potter exclaimed, looking like he was going to rush off after Weasley, regardless of what would happen to me and the baby if he did.

            “Harry, you have to stay calm. Draco can’t be exposed to any stress right now. His blood pressure is still too high. If it gets any higher, the healers said they will have to deliver the baby prematurely. As in right now,” Granger said.

            Despite the calming draught, my breathing was too quick and shallow and I felt a headache coming on.

            “But Ron! He’s my best friend, Hermione! What am I going to do? I can’t leave Draco and the baby! I can’t save them all!” Potter wailed.

            A team of healers rushed in then. Half went to Potter, forcing a Calming Draught on him. The other half went to me, casting spells at my baby bump to check on my fetus.

            “The baby is hanging in there, Mr. Malfoy, but you need to calm down. If you don’t calm down, I am going to have to knock you out, for your own good,” the head healer told me.

            Potter was now being forced onto a second hospital bed. I nodded to my healer and watched as Potter’s bed was rolled over to mine.

            “Good. Auror Potter won’t be going anywhere, so you have nothing to worry about there. And your friend Auror Weasley is being rescued as we speak,” my healer continued.

            “He’s not my friend,” I interjected.

            “Even better then. Less for you to worry about. Now try to calm down,” my healer concluded.

            Potter reached out to me, taking my hand, and then proceeded to try to climb into my hospital bed. He was impeded by the sides that were meant to keep us from falling out of the beds, but someone spelled them down and joined our beds. Then Potter was next to me, wrapping his arms around me, and calmly sobbing into the crook of my neck.

            “I’m sorry, Draco. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll stay. You and the baby come first,” Potter said. “Please forgive me. And please calm down. We can’t lose this baby. We can’t.”

            I squeezed his hand, too tired and out of it to do much more. My breathing was slowing down again and I felt like I might nod off at any moment.

            Then Granger was there with her clock again. “Look Harry! Ron’s hand! It moved!” she exclaimed.

            Sure enough, Weasley’s hand had switched from, “Mortal Peril,” to. “Traveling.” We all watched as it came to rest on, “Work.”

            “They got him. He’s safe,” Potter said sedately.

            “Yes! Harry, is it alright if I go to him? You and Draco will be alright here?” she asked.

            Potter agreed and Granger left.

            The excitement over, Potter and I were soon asleep, owing to the effects of our Calming Draughts.

            Hours later, we were awoken by Granger’s return. She had Weasley himself with her this time and her happiness about that manifested itself in a stupid smile on her face.

            “Man Harry! I get myself kidnapped, but you and Malfoy wind up in hospital. You don’t see me in hospital. You can’t even stay on the sidelines safely, can you?” Weasley asked smugly.

            Potter jumped out of bed ungracefully, due to the lingering effects of the Calming Draught, and hugged Weasley. “Thank Merlin you’re alright. I had half a mind to come after you myself. And well, you can see where that got me.”

            “Landed in bed with Malfoy, yeah. You are aware that you are on desk duty, aren’t you? Not rescue squad duty?” Weasley teased.

            “Yes, I know. But let’s see you stay put when it’s the other way around,” Potter returned.

            “I’ll kill you myself, Potter, if it’s the other way around,” I put in.

            “Oh, but it won’t be! I’m working the desk now and practicing not getting myself killed. See, Ron was in mortal peril today and I didn’t even go after him.” Potter said this, as if he was proud of himself for his efforts.

            “If it weren’t for that Calming Draught, you’d be dead by now,” I retorted.

            “That and you. I couldn’t go off and leave you and the baby,” Potter replied, looking at me with those dreamy green eyes of his.

            “Alright, enough of this sap for me. I’ve had a long day. I only came so you could see for yourself that there’s not a scratch on me. Come on, Hermione, let’s go home,” Weasley said.

            Farewells were exchanged and I put up with it, for the promise of finally being rid of Weasley and Granger.

            Then it was just Potter and me. He climbed back into my bed, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me. “I really am sorry for putting you through all of this. Are you going to be alright?” he asked.

            I nodded. “I think so. I just have one question.”

            “What?”  
            “Where did you go, before Granger went to fetch you?” I asked.

            “Nowhere. I was at my desk all day, except when I went for lunch,” he answered.  
            “Okay. But for the record, you may not think there is much I can do to you after you are dead, but you’ve no idea how spiteful I can and will be if you get yourself killed before this baby is born,” I warned.

            “I wouldn’t dare,” Potter promised. “I can’t wait to see her brought into this world.”

            “And if you don’t die, I’m leaving you.”

            “You’re leaving me?” he asked, confusion on his face.

            “If you survive another near-death episode, I’m out; taking the baby to my mother’s. For good,” I warned, trying to convey just how deadly serious I was about this.

            He gulped. “I’m trying my best.”

            “Try harder,” I insisted.

            “I will,” he promised.


	21. Chapter 21

            “Oh, it’s you, Malfoy,” Ronald Weasley said, flooing into the drawing room.

            “Weasley, what are you doing here?” I asked, sneering. The house had locked itself to Potter’s friends since my return from hospital, which was quite alright with me. But now that it had let this one through, I wasn’t pleased.

            “Looking for Harry. Have you seen him?”

            “Yes, as a matter of fact I have. He said something about how I should stay put and not do anything to raise my blood pressure, like visiting with Weasleys, because he’s still overprotective after that hospital visit.”

            “Is he here, then?”

            “No.”

            “Could you tell him I stopped by then?” he asked.

            “I can tell him that Weasleys stopping by the house without warning raises my blood pressure…”

            “Great! He’ll know it was me by that. See you then.” Weasley took a pinch of floo powder and was off.

 

* * *

 

 

            “Draco, I’m back! My appointment went great. My mind healer says I’m making great progress and adjusting well to my new non-dangerous life. And I got the pudding and that fruit tart thing you wanted,” Potter called as he entered the drawing room while I was lying on the sofa.

            “I know you asked me not to think about them, but the house let a Weasley through,” I informed him.

            “Oh, which one was it this time?”

            “My blood pressure is up.”

            “Ron then? I’ll ask him again not to stop by. Merlin, I just spoke with him this morning. What could possibly be so important?” he asked rhetorically.

            “Don’t know, don’t care. I would like for it to never happen again.”

            “Yes, I know. I’m working on it. I can’t tell you how sorry-”

            “Pudding, you said? Please tell me it’s caramel.”

            “It is.”

            “That might lower my blood pressure.”

            He called Kreacher and ordered him to bring me a bowl. When I was settled into the armchair to eat, he snuck off to contact Weasley. Half an hour later he returned, roast beef sandwiches in hand this time, a tall glass of milk to go with it.

            “Kreacher made this one, not me. I would’ve done it myself, of course, if it weren’t for the call from Ron.”

            “Never can seem to get away from him, can you?”

            “Well, he has pretty big news. Or actually, Hermione stunned him with pretty big news just now and he shared. She’s pregnant. Our babies can grow up together! Isn’t that amazing.”

            “Not really.”

            “Our babies can grow up together! They’ll be best friends.”

            I huffed. “When is she due?”  
            “They just found out, so eight or night months.”

            “Let’s see, we’re having a summer baby, guaranteed to make the school deadlines. They have another eight months to go, so that will be January or February, long after all of the deadlines end. The Weasley kid won’t be in the same grade as ours, so I see no reason to indulge your fantasies any further.”

            “Oh, that’s too bad.”

            I stood up a bit too quickly and regretted it, my head spinning. “Potter?”

            “Yes Draco! Oh my, are you alright? What do you need? Should I have you back to hospital?”

            “A lie down.”

            At that moment, I wasn’t picky; any soft spot that didn’t require me to hobble very far. If it was up to me, I would’ve just gone back to the sofa. But Harry picked me up and carried me to his bedroom, laying me on his bed.

            “This is because of Ron’s visit early?” he asked.

            “That and you wanting to micromanage our child’s friendships before she’s even born. What are you going to go with her to Kindergarten and change her nappy there too?”

            “Alright, our children will have to make friends for themselves. It’s none of my concern.”

            “Good. I’m going to try to rest,” I said.

            “Call me if you need anything.”

            “Come here,” I said, reaching for his hand.

            “What is it?” His tone was concerned.

            “She’s kicking,” I led his hand to my side to feel.

            He smiled. “Is it just me, or is she getting stronger?”

            “Mmm-hmm,” I agreed. It seemed like every day her kicks got harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to thank all of you for your wonderful feedback. It’s very much appreciated and encourages me to write more :)


	22. Chapter 22

            “Draco?” Potter asked coming into the nursery where I was organizing the pile of gender neutral clothes I’d ordered from the catalog.

            “If you’re going to tell me I need to be lying down when I’ve been lying down all day, I’m going to punch you,” I warned.

            “No, but I was wondering if we could talk about names?” he asked sheepishly.

            “We already agreed: I’m picking the boy name and you’re picking the girl name. I have to get this done before I’m too fat to move.”

            “I’ll help you. What exactly are you doing?” he asked.

            I explained it to him and let him stand there and watch as I did all the work. Then I let him prod me into sitting in the rocking chair and he conjured a poor imitation for himself. We sat there rocking together.

            “I’ve decided on Lily Narcissa. I thought you ought to know,” he informed me, a smile quirking up the corners of his mouth.

            “Oh no you don’t, Potter!” I said accusingly, a finger pointed at him.

            “No? Don’t what?” He played all innocent.

            “You’re telling me that you want _my_ mother’s name for our daughter’s middle name, so I’ll feel bad and choose _your_ father’s name for our son’s middle name!

            “No, I’m not!” he defended himself, but I could see it in his eyes: he was lying.

            “You’re not?” my tone was still accusing.

            “No, I’m not.” His features were schooled now, harder to read.

            “Then your godfather? You want me to name him Sirius? Or worse,” I blanched at the thought, “Albus.” I shook my accusing finger in his face as best I could without getting up. “You want me to name him Albus, don’t you!?!”

            Guilt covered his face as he ducked his head into his arms. “Albus is nice…”

            “I can’t believe you! You rotten, manipulative cheat! You’re too lazy to come up with a proper name. You’d have us name our child Lily James Sirius Albus Malfoy, regardless of sex! You just want to throw the names of the people who died for you into a wizard’s cap, pull them out at random, and that’s the name! You can’t be bothered to put any _real_ thought or _effort_ into it. This is our first born here and you’ve had over a month and this is what you have to show for it? Yeah, let’s name her after dead people. That’s it. You’ve solved it. Right on, good show. We can go on with our lives and not have to worry about names, ever again,” I dusted my hands off in mid-air, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

            “No, I didn’t say we were going to name our daughter Lily James. I said Lily _Narcissa_. I was only saying that I like the name James, so if you want to use that for a middle name, then I’d be fine with that. What’s wrong with naming her after both of our mothers?”

            “First of all, because _you_ don’t really _want_ to name her after _my_ mother. You just picked it to manipulate me! Secondly, it’s lazy, that’s what’s wrong! I’ve spent months, _months_ , mind you, making lists of boy names, double checking them, categorizing them, scoring them, analyzing each in combination.” To prove my point, I summoned my spread sheet of boy names without getting up from the rocker. A month ago, I would’ve jumped up in anger before now, but jumping up was an impossibility in my present state. Even getting up required assistance. “See!” I shoved the parchment towards him. I would’ve shoved it in his face, if I could reach.

            “What is this? Draco, you went to all of this work?” he asked amazed.

            “It’s a list of every boy name and a tally of people I know with the name and whether they were good or bad people. The third column is for if they were unremarkable or a mix of good and bad.”

            “James, there’s only one tally mark under James and it’s for bad,” he observed. “Did you forget my father?”

            “I don’t presume to know people I’ve never met.”

            “But I’ve met him. Let me help you fill in this chart for me too.” He summoned a quill.

            “In that case, make a check in the neutral column for James.”

            “What? No, my father wasn’t unremarkable. He was a war hero, Draco!” he exclaimed, arms flailing with passion.

            “Was he brave then?”

            “Oh yes, so brave!”

            “Then move the mark over to mostly bad.”

            “Because he’s brave?”

            “Yes, we wouldn’t want our child to try to live up to his namesake and get himself killed fighting in a war, now would we?”

            “I guess not…But I still don’t think my father should be labeled mostly bad for being brave…”

            “Are you forgetting that I too attended Professor Snape’s funeral? The eulogy _you_ gave! You mentioned your father…” I drawled the last, the first being in a more accusing tone.

            “I described my father as a bully…he bullied Snape,” he filled in.

            “Yes, he did, which means he could never be in the good column. And means his name could never be used as a middle name to Severus, a name which has produced one hundred percent _good_ people.”

            He scanned the list. “One good Severus. I can second that. Are you naming our son Severus, Draco? Merlin, Severus!” Potter jumped out of his seat with excitement.

            “I’ve considered it. It depends.”

            “On what?” he asked curiously.

            “On whether he looks like a Severus. I have other names in mind too.”

            “Like what?”

            “Like it’s a surprise. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

            “You have to tell me, Draco, please? I’m dying of curiosity here!” he pleaded.

            “I don’t have to tell you anything, Potter. Now if you’d kindly hand back over my list.” I held my hand out for it.

            “Well let me see what else you’ve put on here.” He held it out of my reach as he scanned. “Albus, one good person, that seems right. Sirius, one unremarkable person. My godfather really should be moved to the good column.”

            “Was he brave?” I asked.

            “Yes.”

            “Then move him over to the bad column. No one too brave.  
            “Severus Snape was the bravest man I’ve ever met.”

            I groaned. “Why’d you have to say that, Potter? Now I’ll have to strike him from the list!”

            “You can’t strike off people just for being brave.”

            “I can and I will. It’s my list.”

            “You know what, forget I said anything. Name our son whatever you want. Here, you can have your list back.”

            He handed it over and I snatched it away. I rolled it back up and tucked it in with my catalogs on the side table. “Thank you.”

            He was silent for a while. Ten minutes later, he asked, “Do you really not want Narcissa for a middle name?”

            “If you like it, then I’ll be okay with whatever you choose. But, I don’t want you picking something because you think I’ll like it and then expecting me to do the same for you.”

            “Alright. I was also thinking about Luna. Lily Luna Malfoy. That has a ring to it, don’t you think?”

            My face screwed up at the sound of the name. Then I caught myself and put on a neutral expression. “If that’s what you want to name her.”

            “You don’t like it? If you don’t like it, then I’ll pick something else.”

            “No, it’s okay. I don’t love it, but it’s just a middle name.”

            “But I don’t want to give her a middle name you hate.”

            “How about this: if this child is a girl, then she was meant to be a Lily Luna. If not, then it’s a sign that you should try harder to find a middle name that goes with Lily. For the next child, Luna will be off the table.”

            “Alright, I can live with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a very short chapter with a handful of letters next. I might post it later this week and post another chapter next week, if you are all keeping up.  
> Please Review!


	23. Chapter 23

_-Dear Draco_

_Is it alright if I call you that? I don’t mean to presume, but I feel like I know you now, through Harry. I am super excited that we will be pregnant together and that our children will have the opportunity to become friends!_

_Harry has told me about all of these great catalogs you have that you used to supply your nursery, without having to leave the house. How brilliant! I was wondering if you might send some of them my way. If it wouldn’t cause you too much stress, I could stop by this week and pick them up, if you are done with them, that is. Maybe we could have a cup of tea together and chat. Nothing too stressful, I promise._

_-Hoping to hear from you soon, Hermione_

_-Dear Granger._

_No, you cannot have my catalogs, but I have taken the liberty of passing your name along to the distributor. You might also ask your mother-in-law for more affordable baby options; I hear she is an expert in that area. I would prefer it if I never had to endure your husband’s presence ever again, especially not now. His existence triggers this uncontrollable defense mechanism in me that makes it nearly impossible to allow the house to open for his known associates. If you do find the house open, then it would be alright if you dropped in alone. If it doesn’t, please do not pass the information along to Harry. I’m not consciously keeping his friends out, I promise._

_-Sincerely Draco_

_-Dear Draco_

_Oh what a great idea! I did as you suggested and asked Molly for assistance. She is proving quite the expert with all things baby. She is also willing to pass this assistance along to you. I am sure Harry has told you of her desire to be a grandmother to your child, the same goes for Arthur Weasley as well. So it should come as no surprise that Molly expressed to me a desire to get to know you and help with your little miracle. Maybe she might join us for tea. I will keep trying for a visit, waiting for your doors to open and that pleasant chat we will surely have over tea._

_-Sincerely Hermione_

_-Dear Granger_

_Perhaps after the baby is born would be a better time to discuss this? I’m afraid I’m not good company right now with all of this bedrest and the baby crushing my lungs. Please pass along my apologies to the Weasley Matriarch._

_-Draco_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next will be some Harry and Draco bonding. Please review!


	24. Chapter 24

            “Draco?” Harry asked, spooning me in his bed. We spent a lot of time like this now and most of it was without any form of sexual contact.

            “Hmmm?”

            “Tell me again. About our first night together,” he requested.

            “It all started one day long, long ago, when I was super horny, with no one to help me scratch the itch. I was attempting to take care of it myself, when my mother interrupted me. It was morning. My presence was requested down at the breakfast table. Since I’d already missed that, she was there to request my presence in her study to go over an issue very near and dear to her heart: me settling down, getting married, and most importantly, producing her a grandchild to dote upon. I was far too old for her to be so inconsolably grandchildless and as the only child, that was my problem and my responsibility,” I started.

            “Did she try to fix you up with someone?” he asked.

            “Oh yes. Horrible, boring people, half of whom had the wrong bits entirely. The other half…let us say they were interested in playing the same position I was. None of whom were suitable for a marriage that was anything but interminably dull, loveless, and over all, unbearable. I rejected them all out of hand. She got mad and accused me of not trying. I hadn’t even been on a date, not even with someone unsuitable for the Malfoy name, in so very long. I was to get off my lazy arse and do something about this problem, that very day.”

            “And what did you do?” he asked.

            “I ignored her. I locked myself up in my potions room and brewed all day. I’d gotten an order for paternity potions and fertility potions in—I suspect my mother’s involvement there—and I needed to fill it. A bit got onto my skin in the decanting process and I fear some may have absorbed into my skin, but I did do my best to wipe it off and clean the area thoroughly with cold, running water.”

            “But you’d made those potions before?”

            “Yes, well my mother kept finding me orders for those ones. I think it was a hint.”

            “And the paternity potion that starts it all only needs to be consumed once,” he put in.

            “Or never. Malfoys are traditionally male fertile without the potion. I really can’t say if this pregnancy was induced by potion or natural, although I lean toward the latter.”

            “You don’t think you were subconsciously filling your mother’s request?” he asked.

            “Oh, I was consciously filling it! She wanted me to find someone, I came across someone entirely unsuitable, and out of spite, decided to ask for sex and not just a roof over my head.” I paused. “But I digress. We were still back at Malfoy Manor and I was working.”

            “Alright. How did you get from there, to my house?”

            “It was very late when I put away my potions, showered, and crept into the kitchens for a late supper. Mother must’ve been lying in wait or had an elf ordered to tell her when I resurfaced. She came in and asked, ‘I direct you to find a suitable spouse and this is how you spend your day? You need to get your priorities straight. I am owed a grandchild and I would like one before I am too old to enjoy it.’ Blah, blah, blah, incessant pestering, etcetera, or something to that effect.”

            “So what did you do?”

            “I got frustrated at it all. I was tired of being pressured. I was trying to work, like normal people. I hadn’t even been goofing off, gallivanting across the continent in search of cheap thrills, like Blaise. I wasn’t even that old. Why was I getting harassed? But she pressed and she pressed and then I couldn’t take it one second longer.” I paused for effect. “I told her I was going out and not to expect me back any time soon. I’d find somewhere else to stay, where the demands on my person were more tolerable.”

            “So you left.”

            “I left. I hadn’t been here since I was a young child and it was a matter of curiosity to get back inside. It was supposed to be warded, by the best of the best, Dumbledore even. No cracks for someone like me to slip through. I couldn’t resist the challenge. But then I turn the handle and it’s not even locked! Nothing. Not one ward, not one locking spell, not one cloaking spell, nothing, wide open, to me at least.”

            “What did you think of that?” he prodded.

            “A sign. Surely if you didn’t want me coming in anytime I wanted, there would be something, at least one half-arsed ward or locking spell on your door to keep me out. That could only mean you wanted me and were waiting for me to come to you. You’d been pining away for years, trapped up there on your pedestal and inside this run-down old house. You just weren’t proficient enough with your letters to send an owl.” He scowled at the insult, but I continued, “Or perhaps you were too shy to ever tell me you wanted me as much as I wanted you.”

            “You wanted me?” There was a lecherous smile on his face now.

            “Of course.”

            “For how long?”

            “Years. Years and years. I wanted your friendship before I wanted your cock. When I couldn’t have either, I settled for having your attention. But then I was tired of the childishness, so I lost your attention. From the moment I did, I began fantasizing about having it back, but in a new, more grownup way. Mature ways. Ways that included your cock and my arse.”

            “Me too,” he put in.

            “You too? Oh do explain, Great Savior!”

            He blushed and ducked his head. “I was with Ginny. I was never super into sex. I didn’t quite get it, although I tried. I followed along and did what I was supposed to do, but at night, at night I dreamed.”

            “You told me you’d never dreamt like that night.” I interjected.

            “Never dreamed so real! And never dreamed how amazing it could be! I knew being with the right person was part of it, but I never knew how true that was. I had no idea the right person was you. I dreamt about you, but I didn’t know that my subconscious was leading me in the right direction. Merlin, I wasn’t even sure if it was right about trying a man for the first time! I hadn’t worked myself up to finding a bloke and trying it out, let alone, finding the most perfect, hottest, cleverest, most interesting bloke that I’d already spent half of my life obsessing over. I never would’ve risked starting with you and ruining things before I even knew what I was doing.”

            “Still, you shouldn’t have ignored me at all of those parties or when we passed on the street.”

            “You ignored me too. I thought that was what you wanted, to move on with your life. And at the parties, there was alcohol to help loosen my tongue, but it just made me paranoid that I’d say the wrong thing. Please forgive me,” he asked, all wide green eyes.

            “I can forgive you that, but back to our story. So I was in your house and you were asleep in bed. I woke you and asked, “Can I spend the night…on your cock?”

            He laughed at my delivery.

            “And you dropped your pants, answering me with an erection just for me. The rest is history,” I concluded.

            “Do you think we made our little miracle that night?” he asked, cupping my outrageously engorged belly. I looked like I was about to pop and there was still about a month to go.

            “We might’ve. It’s hard to say.”

            “I think we did. That first night, our love came together to bind us forever in the best possible way.”

            “Or, that very first night you started spreading your trap of mushy, sappy, love. You knocked me up, to make it harder for me to escape. Then my mother pushed me into the mire of it and called you to come along and hold me down.”

            “But you fixed me, so being held in my love isn’t so bad anymore, right?”

            “Right. Downright tolerable at times,” I said and he smiled. “Not when your love is refusing me sex on ridiculous grounds that our unborn fetus needs my blood more than my cock. Not when you try to tell me I’m too pregnant for sex, but my body is saying it’s horny.”

            “I’ll suck you off.” His hands dipped down into my pants.

            “Then I’ll be expected to return the favor.”

            “No, you’re on bedrest. You’ll be expected to lie there and watch me jerk off maybe, but most of all you should be staying calm and resting, so our baby can grow big and strong.

            That’s exactly what we did. He didn’t even let me have a finger in my arse; oh the sacrifices of pregnancy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter shows how all of the angst from earlier has been resolved and they’ve finally managed to become a real couple. And by taking it back to the beginning of the story, I intended to wrap things up. The original plan was to add in an epilogue with the birth and that be the end of the story. But then some additional plot came to me, so the story will continue. Think of this and the next few chapters as the happily ever after of part one. Then there will be a couple of transitionary chapters and a time jump to part two.


	25. Chapter 25

            “I’m so glad your wards let me in. It’s about time we finally have our tea together,” Granger said as we sat in the drawing room. I was propped up in an overstuffed armchair, feet up, positioned by the tea table.

            The wards had opened to Potter’s friends two weeks ago, although I only knew that because my mother started showing up with my aunt and baby cousin in tow. I wasn’t sure if the rest of the Order of the Phoenix gang was staying away, because they didn’t think they could get in, or because Potter had asked them to. I considered asking Granger if she’d known the wards were open, but I didn’t want to get into the issue of why I didn’t want her or Potter’s other friends around.

            Potter had begged Granger to come just now to watch me, and she failed to mention that too. There was some big case at work they needed his advice on right this minute. He promised that nothing dangerous would be required of him and it would just be sitting at his desk, reading a case file, and telling the other Aurors what to do. But he was hesitant to leave me alone, because of how far along I was. In fact, he’d barely gone into the office in months. He worked very little these days and when he did, it was from a spare bedroom turned office. But if Granger wasn’t going to mention it, neither was I. I didn’t need a sitter.

            “I figured they’d break a month ago, when I was so miserable I could barely breathe, let alone control the wards. But, if anything, they were tighter then. Even Mother was locked out once,” I replied, absently swirling the tea around in my cup. When Mother was let back in, so was everyone else.

            “But not Harry?” she asked inquisitively.

            “No, not Harry.”

            “I suppose the house had to let someone in, to ensure you were alright.”

            “I suppose. Although, I do have this portkey medallion. If anything goes wrong, it takes me straight to St. Mungo’s.” I pulled out the locket I kept around my neck. In it was a photo of me and Harry and another of me with my parents. Granger reached out to touch it, so I yanked it backwards by the chain. Always the chain. “Don’t touch it! You’ll activate it,” I warned.

            “Oh, sorry. I guess I ought to get one myself when the time comes,” she replied, lowering her offending hand to her flat abdomen. Maybe it was ever so slightly swollen, but probably not.

            “How far along are you now?” I asked out of politeness. I didn’t really care.

            “Two months. I’ve still a ways to go, unlike you. I hear you’re due any day now.”

            “They promised this would be over by now. ‘Preeclampsia leads to premature births,’ they said. I prayed every night for two weeks during the worst of it, for this Potter spawn to come out already, but no, she’s as stubborn as her dad. Wouldn’t budge.”

            “But you’re doing alright now, aren’t you? You’re breathing alright?” she asked.

            I nodded. “She moved. It felt like a Quaffle that had just spent months sitting on my bladder and crushing my lungs, decided to shift over completely to my bladder. It hasn’t stopped feeling like I need to relieve myself since, but I can breathe again. Overall, I think I prefer this.”

            “You certainly look well.”

            “And you look a bit green around the gills,” I observed.

            “Morning sickness. When will it ever end?”

            “Doesn’t completely fade until you’ve some new form of misery to take your mind from it.”

            She smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She sipped her tea. “I was wondering if you might show me your nursery later? Harry tells me it’s like a beautiful golden wonderland in there. I could use some ideas for mine.”

            “I’m not getting up to tickle your fancy and help you rip off my nursery. Although, it doesn’t surprise me that Potter’s a bit colorblind. I’ve been wondering; his poor tastes, you know.”

            “Colorblind?” she asked, as if she didn’t know.

            “The nursery is Daffodil yellow, not gold.”

            “Oh.”

            “But, if I feel like it when this meeting is over, I might floo upstairs. You could see it then.”

            “That would be great! Do you floo everywhere now? Even from room to room inside the house?”

            “No, only from floor to floor. Potter’s idea,” I explained.

            “It’s no wonder with a house like this one with five floors, an attic, and a basement.”

            “Yes,” I sipped my tea, knowing I’d regret it. I already felt like I had to pee and now I’d have to get up in a minute to waddle to the loo.

            “Listen Draco, I’d like it if we could try to be friends, for Harry’s sake,” she announced, sitting up with her hands in her lap, all properly.

            “What do you think we’re doing?” I asked sarcastically, lifting my teacup as proof.

            “Yes, this is a good start. Really be friends,” she said with an amount of enthusiasm that she normally associated with her books. “Harry loves you, which makes you important to me. It would be good if we could be friends.”

            “I will admit that you did get him into counseling, although why you didn’t do that long ago, is beyond me. It’s like you were all just leading a mental patient into the war, like a lamb to slaughter.”

            She looked down at her hands and fiddled with her napkin in her lap. “Well I did suspect he had a problem, a saving people thing. But we were just kids and I’d grown up with him like that. It took stepping back and looking at him with a new perspective, with _your_ perspective, to see it. There was no reason for him to rush into that burning building without checking to see if anyone was in there! And that bombing in Kent; he should’ve waited for Ron! There’s no excuse for entering a dangerous situation without your partner. And then there was that case up north? When he pushed Ron out of the way to take a curse for him. I was glad Ron was alright, but Harry was in hospital for a week when it should’ve been Ron. That trade made no sense, because the curse was the same no matter who took it. I did say something to him then, I swear I tried, but he brushed me off. ‘I’m fine, Hermione. Stop worrying, Hermione. I’m not trying to get myself killed, Hermione.’”

            “So you did see it,” I concluded.

            “Yes, I did. But I didn’t want to see it, so I let him brush my concern aside. You’re good for him that way: you wouldn’t let it be brushed aside. You didn’t even see it firsthand, but you knew.”

            “I knew.”

            “How did you know?” she asked.

            I shrugged. “I’ve known since we were in school. Every incident in the papers just added one more piece of evidence to the stack.”

            “Well I’m glad you said something. You refused to go along with him risking his life and now he’s getting help. That’s why I think you’re so good for him. Ron doesn’t see it, of course; he’s never seen it. You mustn’t judge him too harshly, because he’s not good with the emotional stuff. He just saw you changing Harry’s life and got mad. He couldn’t see that you were trying to save Harry’s life.”

            “He’s a moron.”

            “Give him time; he’s coming around. I think he’s starting to see how happy Harry is with you and his new job. He lost Harry as a partner and he blamed you for that, but now I think he’s starting to see the change in Harry from the therapy. It’s really making a difference. Harry is starting to care about himself.”

            “It’s about time.”

            “Well yes, it is. I think the thing that really made Harry want to change was something you said. He said you asked him if he loved himself; I assume when he asked you to marry him,” she started and I didn’t correct her. “He said you told him that as long as he didn’t love himself, you couldn’t be together, so he had to learn to love himself. I don’t think he would’ve ever put any importance on his own self-worth if you hadn’t said that to him.”

            I nodded. “A Malfoy has to love himself. He’s making progress, but he’s not there yet.”

            “So there won’t be a last minute wedding before your baby is born?” she asked.

            “No.” I groaned. “Please don’t bring that up. I get enough of it from my mother. Even my father is on my case. ‘I know he is a sub-optimal spousal choice, Draco, but you already made your choice to lie with him. Now you must do the proper thing for your child, suck it up, and spend your life tied to the moron.’”

            “Your father sounds charming.” A half smile let me know she was joking.

            I snorted with laughter. “Yeah, charming. That’s the word.” I didn’t bother mentioning that my father had been livid to find out that I’d wedeled Potter into counseling. He’d wanted me to marry Potter right away and let Potter make me a widower inside of five years. Then I’d be free to marry a more appropriate spouse and this child wouldn’t be born a bastard.

            Granger started laughing too. We laughed until my head starting hurting and I was out of breath. I had to lie down on the sofa and asked Granger to leave then, without showing her my nursery. That was probably for the best, because she and Weasley had the combined artistic talent of a gnome; they might copy my work for their own spawn. They probably wouldn’t even think it was stealing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The baby is coming next chapter. What do you all want them to have? A boy or a girl?


	26. Chapter 26

            No sooner had Granger left, then a kick to my bladder reminded me that there was a tablespoon or so of fluid that wasn’t going to stay in there. I waddled to the loo and then waddled back to the sofa. Then my stomach growled, because what had I eaten with my tea? Two biscuits. That wasn’t enough; I needed to eat constantly these days. No starving the Potter spawn. Thus I called Marty and ordered a large meal.

            I was finishing off the last of my lunch when Weasley’s horrible ginger self popped out of the floo. He startled me and I jumped, my vision going mostly black. It was if my brain was so appalled at the thought of seeing him, that it shut off my vision, leaving me with just a bit of blurry color visible in the periphery of my left eye.

            “Is Hermione here? She told me she was going to try you for a visit. And I got through, so she must’ve too,” Weasley said.

            I wondered at him in disbelief that he would have the audacity to disturb me, blinking all the while to see if I could get my eyes to start working again. Then they finally did and I sighed in relief.

            “Well, have you seen her or not?” Weasley asked.

            “Yes, but she’s gone. I don’t want you stopping by for any more of these little chats,” I replied, feeling nauseous. I couldn’t remember the last time the morning sickness had hit me, but now I rushed to stand, knowing that I’d never make it to the loo in time.

            “Relax, you selfish git. I haven’t been here in months. I’m Harry’s best friend and you’re just gonna,” he was saying, when I puked; my plan was to rush past him to the loo, but I only got to right in front of him, before I was spraying his robes with vomit, “have to get used to me. Bloody bastard! Did you have to aim for me?” Then my head was on fire with pain and I was collapsing, reaching out for anything, even horrible vomit-covered Weasley, as I went. “Merlin’s bloody ballocks, you scream like a banshee! What’s wrong with you?”

            Was I screaming?

            While Weasley ranted, my hands frantically sifted through the cloth covering my chest. My robes were tangled and I couldn’t find it. Then Weasley’s hands were on me and he was asking, “Are you alright, Malfoy? Where are you hurt, you great tit? Harry will never forgive me if you die while I’m here, so shut up and tell me what’s wrong?” And then I had it: the portkey charmed locket. I pulled up the chain and cupped the metal charm in my hands.

            It was only when I was ripped out of Grimmauld Place by an invisible hook in my naval that I noticed Weasley was touching me. It started off with one hand on my shoulder, but then the other hand flailed around and grabbed my arm. My aim was to get him off of me, but as I moved to pry him off, I passed out. Then there was nothing but pain. Pain in my head and pain in my abdomen. My insides felt like they were being squeezed through a miniscule tube, all the while the stabbing pain tearing me in two.

            I woke up in a bed at St. Mungo’s, in the paternity ward, still in pain and confused.

            “Here we are, one perfect little boy. A bit small, but he looks like he’ll do. I don’t think the placental abruption did him any harm; we got him out soon enough. Let’s just get his breathing passage cleared out before he breathes anything in,” the healer said, a bloody bundle in one arm, the other arm wheedling a suction bulb.

            There was blood everywhere. Red blood. At least my vision was back to normal.

            The bundle started screaming. I sighed in relief, despite the pain and discomfort.

            “Here, a pain potion, Mr. Malfoy. Drink up, you’ll need it after that,” the nurse was saying as he poured a potion down my throat.

            I drank as best I could, but it spilled out my lips and down my neck.

            “There we go. A good set of lungs on this one, aye? Just let me clean him up,” the healer paused to cast a cleaning spell on the crying bundle in her arms, the blood vanishing.

            “And another one to make sure the seizures don’t come back,” the nurse said, holding another vial to my lips.

            Had that been a seizure then? The feinting? I felt like I had missed something, or quite a lot of somethings.

            The orderly held out a blanket to the healer with my baby. The healer passed the pink bundle to the orderly, who wrapped him in a blue blanket.

            Then the healer said, “And now to finish up the delivery. The afterbirth still has to come out, Mr. Potter.”

            The wrong name barely registered as the orderly presented me with the pink bundle wrapped in the blue blanket. My baby. My son. He was all my eyes could take in as people moved around me, as bits of placenta were apparated out of me, and as blood was spelled away. He was gorgeous. Pink and puffy from the birth, but sharp and pointy in all the right places; a true Malfoy. He had perfect little red lips. His eyes were scrunched closed as he cried, so I couldn’t tell the color. His head though, was covered in a mop of wild, messy, blond hair. It was short, but thick, growing in all directions.

            “Shush, shhsh, it’s okay Sev, Father’s got you now. No more of that awful healer bothering you,” I whispered as I cradled my treasure. I knew instantly that he wasn’t the Scorpius I’d been wanting, but a Severus. It was that hair; a Scorpius would never have hair like that.

            Sev quieted down in my arms, his wails turning into a soft cooing sound before stopping completely. I stroked his little cheek, so warm and alive. His little arms moved under the blanket at my touch. I shifted the soft blue cloth, exposing the clenched fist with four tightly curled fingers and a thumb wrapped on top of them. I touched the tiny hand in wonder and the fingers sprung open to wrap around my finger. This moment was worth all the pain, all the trouble breathing from him crushing my lungs, and all the boredom of the months of bedrest. In the blink of the eye, this baby, little Sev, was the most important person to me in the entire world. I’d give up Malfoy Manor and everything I owned, to keep him safe.

            When the healer finished with me and cleaned away the blood, I was dressed in a flimsy hospital gown and Sev and I were wheeled to a private room. The noise of the nurses and orderlies working was finally gone and we had a bit of peace and quiet to bond. He was a good baby; he let me pull away his blanket and his nappy, just to satisfy my curiosity that everything was in the right place. It was. His perfect little legs were so tiny. His feet were just these wee little things, but they were perfectly formed, with five toes each. He cooed at me, his bottom lip pouting out, as I stroked the bottom of his foot.

            “You like that, do you Sev?” I asked and then kissed the bottom of his foot. “You sure kicked me enough with these things, I thought they’d be bigger. They’re so small; you must have Daddy’s feet.”

            Done with my examination, I wrapped Sev back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that’s the birth and Ron’s gone to fetch Harry.   
> Please review!


	27. Chapter 27

            The two of us, Sev and I, were just finding a comfortable position to rest when Weasley and Potter barged in.

            “Draco! Oh thank Merlin! When Ron told me, I was so worried. Is that Lily? Is she okay? Are you okay?” Potter asked, after rushing to my bedside.

            “I want Weasley out! He did this! He almost killed our baby, you colorblind arse,” I screeched at Potter, angry that he was interrupting my moment with my precious little Sev by bringing Weasley in here.

            “Me? What’d I do? I took you to hospital and fetched Harry, is all,” Weasley defended himself irately.

            “Took me to hospital? Did you now? Funny, I seem to remember you grabbing onto me, pulling me down, hindering _my_ portkeying _myself_ to hospital.”

            “Well…I went with him, Harry. That’s what counts,” Weasley said to Potter.

            “Yeah, he went with me, _after he caused…”_ I paused, my mind too fuzzy to say just what it was that had happened. Never-the-less, I regrouped and continued my growling accusation, “ _that nearly killed our baby_!”

            Sev started crying and a nurse rushed into the room.

            “There, see what he’s done!?! I want him out, now!” I shouted, patting Sev’s back as I bounced him. “There, there, little one. I’m sorry I yelled. It’s just that Daddy is an idiot and let a moron into our room.”

            At the same time, the nurse said, “Auror Potter, your husband’s condition is still critical. He needs to remain calm or he risks another seizure.”

            “Out, Ron,” Potter said, turning on his friend.

            “Me? You can’t believe him over me. I didn’t do anything to him!” Weasley protested.

            “Thank you for fetching me, but you can’t stay. I’ll talk to you later. Please let everyone know,” Potter said, pushing Weasley out the door and then shutting it in Weasley’s ugly face.

            “I don’t want him popping in again. That’s what did it,” I said, as Sev’s wails quieted down.

            Potter sighed. “I will tell him again. But first, can someone please tell me what happened?”

            The nurse proceeded to inform Potter that I had had a grand mal seizure during my portkey to hospital. That had caused the baby’s placenta to be torn away from my uterine wall—a full placental abruption—which was very dangerous and meant they had to remove the baby immediately. Meanwhile I was still thrashing about and they were almost at the point of shoving a tube down my throat to keep my air passages open when they administered medicine to stop the seizure. It had only turned out so well, with both me and the baby surviving, because I had had the foresight to grab my portkey as the seizure was coming on. Otherwise, the baby and I would both be dead at Grimmauld Place, Weasley dithering about like the useless moron he was.

            Potter didn’t seem to register that it was all Weasley’s fault and instead blamed himself for being gone so long.

            The nurse left him to it, saying, “I will just give the three of you some time alone to bond.”

            “I’m so sorry, Draco. I should’ve never stopped for that potion for your feet. The line was too long. It’s only that I knew how swollen you’ve been and we were almost out of the potion and I thought Hermione was still with you…” Potter blabbered on.

            “Potter!” I called, getting his attention. “Please shut up. I just had a baby here and I don’t really care to hear it right now.”

            Potter shut his mouth. Then he did his fish impersonation, silently opening and closing his mouth, as if to say something and then thinking better of it. Then he sighed, regrouped, and asked, “Would you care to introduce me to our daughter?” motioning towards Sev.

            “I know you’re blind, Potter, but I’d hoped you’d at least be able to tell the difference between blue and pink.”

            “Blue and pink?” he asked.

            “Yes. See, typically when a hospital wraps a baby in blue, it is a sign that the child has a penis, making him a boy. I checked to make sure; it’s all there,” I said, tugging at the edge of the blue blanket for emphasis.

            “A boy? We have a son?” he asked surprised.

            I nodded.

            “Draco, this is wonderful!” he exclaimed, leaning in to hug me.

            “Careful, you’ll squash Sev!” I complained, pushing lightly on his shoulder with the hand not cradling our son.

            “Sev?”

            “Severus.”

            “Severus,” he repeated.

            “He looks like a Severus. See, all the Potter hair? And he has Potter feet too, I’m sure of it.”

            He smiled. “And that’s the Malfoy chin if ever I’ve seen it.” He reached in and tapped Sev’s chin. “Sharp.”

            “Yes, well he is a Malfoy.”

            “Severus Malfoy. What’s his middle name?” Potter asked.

            “Lucius. Severus Lucius Malfoy,” I revealed.

            “Lucius?” Potter’s face scrunched up. “After your father?”

            “Yes, after _my_ father. I know you wanted James, but I couldn’t pair James with Severus and he’s a Severus. Maybe the next one will be your Scorpius James or your Lily.”

            “Scorpius James? I like that.”

            “Well too bad, because we got a Sev, not a Scorp.”

            “But why Lucius? I get that you didn’t want James or Sirius, but why Lucius? Why not something else, like Albus? I like Severus Albus. It has a nice ring to it.”

            “Well for one, I have brought him into this world out of wedlock, as you and everyone else are so quick to point out.”

            “Well you could’ve married me already and fixed that. We could get married right now.”

            We’d had this conversation before. My parents wanted us married months ago and Potter agreed with them; practically the only thing Potter and my father ever agreed on. But I didn’t want to marry Potter just because I was pregnant. I wanted to marry for love. I wanted everything to be perfect and not at all rushed. And the healer agreed with me that a wedding would be too much stress, given my condition, so I’d won.

            “Don’t be stupid, Potter. Now as I was saying, I’ve brought the Malfoy heir into this world out of wedlock. My father is already displeased. In order to prevent my father from deciding to use Sev’s illegitimate status to reject him as the proper heir to the Malfoy family, I’m naming him after my father. My father won’t be able to reject a little Lucius.”

            “I guess not…” Potter conceded, but didn’t sound convinced.

            “And secondly, as you pointed out, all known Severuses are far too brave. Saddling this little guy with a name like that is unfair. It’ll have him rushing off to save poisonous toads crossing the road and getting killed in the process by the time he’s five. But,” I held up a finger. “But, with a middle name like Lucius, a name that has never been associated with bravery, to counteract the Severus, then he might just make it.”

            “Then who will save the poisonous toads?” Potter asked, a smile quirking up the sides of his mouth.

            “Maybe the Weasley kid. Why do I care? They’re toads. Let them cross the road. Just as long as Severus Lucius here doesn’t try to go after them.” I gave Sev a light squeeze for emphasis.

            “Oh, definitely not. Severus Lucius needs to stay safe inside his bubble, of course.”

            “Yes, he does.”

            “No playing with poisonous toads,” he reiterated.

            “No indeed. Did you hear that little Sev? Nothing dangerous. No licking the poisonous toads, no petting them, not even any picking them up to move them to the other side of the road. No doing anything Daddy would do,” I told the bundle in my arms.

            “Daddy?” Potter asked sounding awed. “I like the sound of that.”

            “Run into another empty burning building and you can be the speccy dad again. For now, Daddy is shorter,” I said.

            “I’ll have you know I rescued a crup from that building.”

            “I heard the crup rescued you.”

            He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, and said, “That was Ron who said that, actually, after witnesses reported the crup ran in after me. He said the crup succumbing to the fumes gave me something to carry out, allowing me to come out of the building while saving something and looking like a hero.”

            “I know what you’re doing and I’m not biting. I don’t care if it was your Weasley who said it. You still did it.”

            “And I won’t do it again. I’ve learned my lesson,” he said.

            “Good.”

            “Good. Daddy, huh?” he asked, eyeing Sev. I nodded.

            “Can I hold him, Draco?” he asked.

            I eyed him critically, taking in his clean Auror robes, fresh from half a day of desk work on the big case they wanted his opinion on. I made him wash his hands, before I let him touch my precious Sev, but then I handed the little guy over.

            Potter sat in the chair by my bed, delicately cradling our baby and making weird faces at him. “I can’t believe I have a son. I was so sure you were a little girl. But if I can’t have a Lily, I’m glad I have a Sev. You’re named after the greatest hero of them all, you know that, right?” he asked the baby. Sev didn’t answer. “Yes you are, you sweet little boy.” Potter’s voice rose an octave as he continued to coo nonsense at our son.

            I lay back and closed my eyes, exhausted after a long day. I’d never gotten my nap after Granger’s stupid visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is: the happy new family. What do you think? Up next the families will arrive.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to keep you waiting. I defended my PhD this week and am now driving across the country. But my hotel for the night has wifi, so I finally have a chance to post!

            I woke up when Sev cried to be fed. Apparently my parents arrived during the feeding, because they were lined up at the door with a bunch of Weasleys when I finished. I sent the Weasleys away, but allowed my parents in.

            “You know Draco, word is that Potter allowed half a dozen of those imbecilic red-heads to hold my grandson while you were asleep,” my father said, as my mother sat down with Sev to coo at him.

            “Now dear, I’m just upset I wasn’t allowed to hold him first,” my mother said.

            I glared disapprovingly at Potter. He blushed guiltily.

            “I made them wash their hands, I swear,” Potter said defensively.

            “No more Weasleys. How am I supposed to rest, if you go behind my back and hand my son over to Weasleys?” I asked pointedly.

            “Just to hold, and only a few Weasleys. Not Ron, just Molly, and Hermione, and Arthur…”

            “And?” I asked  
            “And George and Angelina and Fleur and Bill. That’s it, I swear.”

            “Seven Weasleys?”

            “Yes. Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that they’re my family and I wanted them to meet my son,” Potter defended himself.

            “You could’ve waited until I was awake.”

            “I could’ve?”

            “Yes,” I replied.

            “And you would let the Weasleys hold our son?”

            “Certain Weasleys, yes. But not right now. I’m too tired for all of them right now.”

            “Oh Draco!” Potter exclaimed, engulfing me in another of his hugs. I patted him on the shoulder, too sore to move much. “I love you so much.” He grabbed my hand, brought it to his lips and kissed.

            “Careful! I had a baby apparated from my body today,” I complained in pain from the movement.

            “Oh, sorry,” Potter let my hand go.

            “But maybe you could kiss me where it wouldn’t hurt?” I asked, puckering my lips.

            Potter kissed me.

            “Save the displays of affection for your wedding night,” my father hissed.

            I pulled my head away from Potter and motioned for him to move out of the way. He did. “Father, did Potter tell you what we’ve named him?” I asked.

            “Severus. Your dear Potter told us you call him Sev,” my mother answered for my father. Father nodded.

            “Severus Lucius Malfoy.” I nodded.

            “Severus Lucius?” my father asked surprised.

            “Do you not like it?” I asked, as if I might take it back.

            “No, no, I love it! I just thought with Potter as the other father, I was doomed to have a grandchild with some plebian name, like James,” my father replied.

            “Not this one. All that blond hair on a James? No, not Sev. Lucius is a good name for a blond,” I fibbed. I would name a blond Scorpius James if he looked like a Scorp. It was the wild Potter hair that had made me decide on Sev, not Scorp. But, I didn’t want to point a Potter feature out to my father as the reason I’d name his grandson after him.

            “He looks like you too. He has your chin,” Potter added to my father.

            “And your nose and forehead. I’d recognize them anywhere. He’s the spitting image of you, dear,” my mother said to my father.

            My father peered over my mother’s shoulder. “Yes, that he is. Just like Draco was when he was a baby, only with more hair. Didn’t you bother to comb it, Draco?” my father asked the last to me.

            “No, no comb and I was too tired.” It was partially true. I had seen a nurse aim a combing spell at Sev’s hair with no effect.

            “We’ll work on taming it when he’s older. For now, I think it’s fine to leave it,” Mother said, softly smoothing Sev’s hair. It sprang right back up the moment her hand passed.

            “Well dear, do you think I can get a turn holding my namesake? You know how I’ve been wanting a grandson,” Father said, arms out and waiting.

            “Yes dear,” Mother said, getting up. She exchanged places with Father and handed Sev over.

            My father’s face lit up like I’d never seen it before. He smiled and cooed at Sev in a high-pitched voice. Then he exclaimed, “Oh look, he opened his eyes! Not my eyes then. So blue. Must be your eyes, Cissy.”

            “Possibly dear, although they look a bit pale to be my shade of blue. Baby’s eyes change though. There’s no telling what color that blue will turn into,” Mother said.

            “So not green?” I asked with a touch of disappointment.

            “They could very well be green, Draco. Even brown eyes can start off blue like this,” my mother answered.

            “I doubt he’ll have brown,” I said looking into Potter’s green eyes. Between my grey and his green, I didn’t see any chance of brown. Not that I’d mind brown; it was just that I’d been hoping for green.

            “I was hoping for grey,” Potter said.

            I let the, “Maybe the next one,” go unsaid. Maybe the next would have grey, maybe green. For now, I was happy with blue, or whatever color they’d turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter I plan on skipping ahead a few months. Please review!


	29. Chapter29

            “Draco, Love! I’ve got good news! Hermione has had the baby!” Potter called, coming home early from work.

            I was in the nursery playing with Sev, who was eight months old. He didn’t crawl yet, but he could stand and pull himself around the house while holding onto the walls. He could also say a dozen simple words.

            “The good news being that that bruiser didn’t kill her coming out, I take it,” I called back, dangling a set of ivory keys that had been in the family for generations in front of Sev.

            The keys made a clanking sound and Sev reached out with a laugh, lunging for them. Maybe I could entice him to start crawling already.

            “Ten pounds and mother and baby are doing well,” Potter confirmed.

            “Ouch. That’s only two pounds shy of Sev and he’s eight months,” I said.

            “I know.”

            “Nearly twice what Sev was when he was born.”

            “I know. But we knew this baby was going to be big; could tell just by the look of Hermione.”

            “Poor thing. I suppose Weasley got her to hospital before Weasley junior killed her on his way out.”

            “Weasley Junior is a girl, all ten pounds of her.”

            “A girl?”

            “Yep.”

            “That giant bruiser of a fetus that has been kicking her nearly to death from the inside for months, is a girl?” I asked skeptically.

            “She wasn’t kicked nearly to death. Ron just overreacted a few times,” Potter insisted.

            “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What did they name her?” I asked.

            “Rose.”

            “Rose?” I snorted. “Sounds like a Weasley name.”

            “Well grab your things; let’s go see her,” Potter urged, grabbing Sev’s nappy bag and looking through it.

            “Why? Weasley will be there.”

            Potter grabbed a few more nappies, as if to stock the nappy bag, but paused in his actions to speak. “Because I want to show you my god-daughter and I want Sev to meet his cousin.”

            “Sev can’t go. St. Mungo’s doesn’t allow children under the age of five into the maternity ward. And I can’t go, because Weasley will be there. You remember how Weasley did nothing while I was bleeding to death and Sev was suffocating to death, don’t you?”

            “Ron would’ve taken you to hospital if you hadn’t gotten to your portkey first,” Potter defended his friend.

            “Yeah, after we were dead, he’d take us.”

            “Maybe he was slow on the uptake, but it was his first time. I yelled at him. Hermione yelled at him. And, I told you, his mum hit him on the side of the head and said, ‘Ronald Weasley, when a pregnant person screams, you take them to hospital first and ask questions later!’” The last was said in a poor imitation of a high-pitched female voice. “And he listened, didn’t he? How many times did he side-along Hermione to St. Mungo’s when it was just Rose kicking her in the kidneys?”

            “Half a dozen, but that was his wife and his baby. When it was your baby, he was no help at all. And, you’ll remember that it was him showing up after you’d specifically asked him not to that cause the placental abruption that nearly killed us.”

            “Yes, I remember.”

            “And he keeps showing up here every time I finally get the house to let Weasleys in again.”

            “Yeah, I know. The house seems to like him.”

            “The house wouldn’t be determining whether or not he’s let in, if you’d just recast the Fidelius and not tell him the secret,” I insisted.

            “That’s a lot of work…” he hedged. “For now, let’s drop Sev off with your mum and go see baby Rose. I haven’t seen her yet. I came straight here when I found out, to fetch you.”

            I sighed, knowing that he didn’t give up easily when he wanted something. “Fine, I’ll go, but I want you to think about fixing the wards.”

            “Alright. I’ve added some nappies and it looks like there’s plenty of everything else already in here. Besides, your mum has the Malfoy nursery well stocked, yeah?”

            “Yes,” I confirmed. My mother had stocked my old nursery to the point that it was ready for Sev and I to move back home, if only she had given us the okay to move back, that is. She was still on about how I needed to make things work with Potter the last time I’d asked. I hadn’t asked since before Sev was born, so perhaps that had changed. Although Potter was alight now, so I didn’t want to move home anymore; Grimmauld Place was my home these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s short, but I spent all day driving from Kansas to New Mexico. Next I will have the visit to see Baby Rose! Please review!


	30. Chapter30

            Once Sev was dropped off, we apparated to St. Mungo’s and made our way to Granger’s room. Weasley was standing guard looking like a gorilla, a stupid goofy smile on his face as he gazed down at his wife and child. Granger looked like she’d been chased by a crazed herd of hippogriffs, although she too smiled. I couldn’t see much of the baby, despite her extremely large size, because she was completely covered in a pink blanket.

            “Hey,” Potter called softly as he entered. “Can we come in? Or is this a bad time?”

            “Come in! Oh Harry, you have to see; she’s brilliant. Just look at her,” Weasley said, motioning Harry forward.

            Potter went to take a look, Granger repositioning the baby so he could see. I hung back, wary of Weasley.

            “Oh, what a little sweetheart,” Potter said. “She’s gorgeous.”

            “Here Harry, you take her,” Granger said, offering up the bundle.

            Potter took the baby and sat in the chair closer to Granger. Then he motioned to the chair next to him with his chin. “Sit, Draco,” he said.

            I sat. Then I peered over at the newest Weasley. “She lucked out: she has Granger’s looks,” I observed.

            “That she does: as beautiful as her mother!” Weasley boasted, as if I hadn’t just insulted him.

            “You think so? I can’t really tell,” Potter said.

            I resisted commenting about Potter’s blindness. Instead I pushed the blanket back from around the little face. Then I gasped. “Where’s her hair?” I asked.

            “She hasn’t got any,” Potter observed.

            “Lot’s a babies are born bald,” Granger said.

            “This whole time I was imagining her with Granger’s hair, but ginger,” I commented.

            “Oi, that would be bloody brilliant, wouldn’t it Hermione?” Weasley asked.

            Granger agreed, sounding very tired.

            “I hope you weren’t too rough on your mummy, little Rosie, were you?” Potter asked the baby in a high-pitched voice.

            Granger and Weasley took that as their cue to tell us the entire story of Rose’s birth, every gruesome detail. Pushing ten pounds of Weasley through the vaginal canal sounded much more harrowing that apparating six pounds of Malfoy out of me had been and that was counting the fact that Sev’s placenta had torn from my uterine wall while he was still inside me.

            “I’m glad male pregnancies are apparition births,” Potter said when they finished.

            “But apparition births are incredibly risky without a trained healer,” Granger said, like a tired know-it-all.

            “Hermione wanted a natural birth. I was in favor of an apparition birth. By the time she was in enough pain to start thinking I was right, the healer said Rose was already coming out,” Weasley said.

            “I still think a vaginal birth is better for the baby. It forces the water out of the lungs,” Granger said.

            “And gave Rose that fetching cone shape to the top of her head,” I added.

            “That will go away. Hermione, you said that would go away, didn’t you?” Weasley asked his wife.

            “Yes Ron,” Hermione said, sounding exhausted and exasperated. She’d probably had to explain the whole delivery process to him a bunch of times, today alone.

            “You sound tired,” Potter said to Granger.

            “I am tired,” she confirmed. “Ron, why don’t you take Rose to that waiting room so I can rest?”

            “Me?” Weasley asked sounding stunned.

            “Yes you, Ronald,” Granger confirmed in a stern tone.

            “Come on Ron, I’ll help. And we can take Draco with us; he’s excellent with babies,” Potter said, standing up with Rose.

            Weasley eyed me suspiciously. Granger eyed Weasley like she was going to rip his ballocks off if he didn’t agree.

            Weasley noticed Granger’s look, yelped, and said, “Right this way,” motioning for Potter and I to exit the room.

            Weasley led us down the hall to a waiting room. Rose fussed about being moved, so Potter handed her off to me, as usual. I quieted the baby down and she fell asleep in my arms. I moved to give her back to Weasley, but he made a cross with his arms and told me to keep her.

            “You scared, Weasley?” I taunted.

            “No,” Weasley answered, in a tone confirming that he was.

            “Don’t worry, you’ll be brilliant at this Ron, you’ll see,” Potter said.

            “Yeah, because Granger will do all the work,” I said. Then to the baby, “Don’t worry Rose, your mother will make up for your father.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?” Weasley asked.

            “Whatever you think it’s supposed to mean,” I answered with a sneer.

            “Could you two just get along for once?” Potter asked, exasperated.

            “No,” Weasley said.

            Just to be contrary, I said, “Yes.”

            Weasley raised an eyebrow at me. I raised one back at him. He raised his hands in defeat and let out a huff.

            Potter looked at us both and smiled. “Good. Now that the two of you aren’t going to kill each other, I need to use the loo,” he said, getting up.

            Potter left me there with Weasley with only Weasley’s newborn daughter between us. I guess Potter was counting on neither of us wanting to hurt the baby to stop us from fighting.

            “She’s rather hefty for a girl, don’t you think? She’s about the build of Milli’s girls. Perhaps I could ask her for hand-me-downs for you,” I suggested. My friend Millicent had always been large. After having two children, she was now well within the obese category and both of her young daughters took after her. Milli’s toddler was rounder than she was tall; she too had been a large newborn and I thought Rose would take about the same size.

            “Rose isn’t fat!” Weasley protested.

            “I didn’t say that. I said she’s hefty. She’s got some meat on her bones; that’s a compliment for a baby, you dolt. It means they’re healthy,” I said.

            Weasley looked confused, as if he couldn’t tell if I was telling the truth now, or if I’d really been calling his newborn fat.

            “Your kid is all skin and bones,” he finally said.

            “I’ll be sure to tell Potter you insulted Sev so,” I said.

            Weasley’s forehead scrunched up, likely trying to puzzle out whether he’d be in trouble with Potter for that. “Go ahead and I’ll tell him you called Rose fat. My word against yours.”

            “Fine. Like I said, fat’s a compliment with a newborn. And my son may have Potter’s quick metabolism, making it impossible for me to fatten him up, but at least he has hair. A bald Weasley.” I snorted in laughter, looking down at the bald little head in my lap. She really had no hair anywhere at all; not even on her eyebrows.

            “Well at least she’s not a boy with a wild mane of hair like your kid. A little Malfoy who looks like a lion,” Weasley retorted, turning red. He looked like he wanted to grab the baby back for a second, but then pulled away, as if he’d thought better of it.

            Oh, I was going to tell Potter he said that one. It was partially true, because Sev’s hair had started off wild and then proceeded to grow past his ears, down his neck, and worst, into his eyes. Lately I’d taken to pulling it back with masculine headbands to keep it out of my son’s eyes. My parents had suggested cutting it, but Potter had advised against it and then demonstrated how Potter hair had the ability to magically grow back overnight. Haircuts were never particularly easy endeavors with wiggling babies, so Potter and I had decided not to cut it for now. Headbands may not be fashionable for boys, but they were better than a sliced ear.

            I might’ve said something about Sev’s hair, because the comment rankled so, but instead I decided to get Weasley in a more sensitive area. “Here, you want her back? Take her,” I said, standing up with Rose and holding the baby out to her father.

            He raised his hands up in protest. “No, oh no. I never said anything about that. You sit back down,” he pointed downwards, “and wait for Harry to come back. He can take her.”

            “No, really, it’s okay. You don’t want a horrible Malfoy holding your precious little bundle. She’s all perfect and little and fragile, isn’t she?” I asked, carefully cradling the baby back to my chest. I may dislike Weasley, but I had nothing against baby Rose.

            “Yes. I mean no. No, it’s fine for you to hold her, really, just do it sitting back down, please.” He looked like he was about to spazz.

            “Or what? You’ll take her back? You’ll hold her yourself?”

            “No. No, you hold her.”

            “You’re not scared, are you? Come on, you’ll have to hold her sometime. Granger will have your hide if you don’t,” I warned.

            “I’ll do it when she’s older.”

            “Did you hear that Rose? Your father will love you when you’re older,” I said, sitting back down with the baby.

            “I didn’t say that!” Weasley protested.

            “It’s alright, little Rose. You don’t even need a father,” I said.

            “Shut up, Malfoy!” Weasley barked.

            “What’s going on in here?” Harry asked, running into the room.

            “Weasley’s afraid to hold Rose,” I blurted out, before Weasley could explain.

            “Malfoy’s saying bad things about me to my own daughter,” Weasley retorted.

            “Nothing that I didn’t say to you just now,” I said to Potter.

            Potter eyed Weasley. Weasley nodded.

            “Here, you take the baby. Weasley won’t,” I said, getting up and passing Rose over to Potter.

            Potter stood there holding the sleeping Rose for half a minute. “You know Ron, she’s asleep. Nothing to holding a sleeping baby. Just sit down and I’ll help you,” Potter said.

            Weasley protested. I giggled. Potter gave up and sat down with the baby.

            “I’d like to go now. Weasley was making fun of Sev’s hair. Called it a lion’s mane and said it was unfit for a boy,” I said, knowing this would get Weasley in trouble on two fronts. One, Potter would be mad at Weasley for saying something about Sev. Two, Granger would get woken up when we give Rose back, because Weasley was too chicken to hold his own kid.

            “You said that?” Potter asked Weasley.

            “He was making fun of Rose! He called her bald!” Weasley protested.

            “She is bald,” I observed.

            “It’s how he said it!” Weasley protested.

            “Is not,” I retorted. “And, he called Sev a pile of skin and bones. He was making fun of us, because our baby is so scrawny, while his is nice and healthy.”

            “No, he called Rose fat!” Weasley exclaimed.

            “I did not. I said hefty. Weasley said fat,” I insisted.

            “I cannot believe the two of you. I just wanted one visit with my goddaughter and you couldn’t get along for one little visit? Here Ron, take your kid,” Potter said, standing up and taking a step towards Weasley.

            “No, give her back to Hermione,” Weasley said, again refusing to take the baby.

            “Stop being stupid. Hermione’s sleeping. Just take her,” Potter said.

            Weasley was saved then when a nurse popped in to ask if there was a problem. I piped up that Weasley was too chicken to touch his own baby. Potter said no, there was no problem, we were just leaving. Weasley asked the nurse if she’d take the baby. The nurse quickly took Rose from Potter, said the baby would be at the nurse’s station, and disappeared again.

            I gave Weasley a self-satisfied smirk as I left with Potter. This would’ve been perfect, if only Potter wasn’t so mad at me. I’d have to make it up to him somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am officially back in California, going between relatives. Most of my relatives don’t have internet, but I spent last night at my brother’s, who does, so I was able to get this up. My schedule for the rest of the month is pretty busy, but I will get out the next update as soon as I can.


	31. Chapter31

            “Potter! Potter, come quick!” I called, Sev in my arms. He was eleven months old now and still a pointy-faced Malfoy with messy Potter hair. His hair had just reached the point where I could gather it in the back and tie it with a ribbon, like the way my father did his hair. It came out quickly, because it was still too short for a proper ponytail, but it was more fashionable than the headbands.

            “What is it? What’s wrong?” Potter asked, out of breath as he ran into the room.

            “Nothing’s wrong.”

            “Then why’d you call me like that?” he asked.

            “Because I won.”

            “You won?”

            “Yes, you lost and I won. Look at Sev’s eyes,” I directed, holding Sev up for him to see. Sev squirmed, not wanting to hold still for me any longer. He’d finally learned to crawl a month or so back and let me tell you, encouraging that was a mistake. If only the little terror hadn’t learned to crawl.

            He looked. “What am I looking at, Draco?”

            “You really can’t see colors at all, can you?” I asked.

            “No, I can. Oh! Oh, green! That’s a blotch of green in that one! And the other one too! They’re turning green!” he shouted.

            “Yes. And since I was the one who wanted green, I win and you lose,” I insisted.

            “I wouldn’t exactly say I’m losing here,” he said, pulling Sev out of my arms to hug. Sev returned the hug, then pushed away with a grunt. “I’m still getting one rather brilliant son with green eyes.”

            “They’re not the Potter green, though. They’re blue-green,” I observed.

            “The Potters didn’t have green eyes. My mother did. They’re my mother’s eyes, just give them time.”

            “If you say so, Daddy, but I still think they’re bluer than yours,” I said.

            “You want to bet on it?” he asked.

            “Depends. What’s the bet?” I asked.

            “If you win, then I’ll take your last name when we marry. If I win, you have to take mine,” he wagered.

            “Deal, but only because I know I’m going to win,” I replied.

            “Deal. Kiss on it?” he asked, puckering out his lips for me and shifting Sev over to his hip, out of my way.

            I leaned in and kissed him. Sev reached out and smacked him on the cheek, making a kissing sound with his lips. I pulled away, before I got smacked too.

            “Yes Sev, Daddy and Father kissed. Now Father is going to kiss you,” I said and then darted in to kiss our son’s cheek.

            “Me too,” Potter said and kissed Sev’s other cheek.

            Sev laughed and made kissing sounds back at us. Then he really got fed up with being held and practically jumped out of Potter’s arms. I caught our son and lowered him to the ground. Sev took off crawling and I groaned, gearing up to chase after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m wrapping things up, to get to the point where they are ready to get married. There is just one more thing that needs to happen first…  
> Please review!


	32. Chapter32

            Potter came running into the room out of breath. “Draco,” he called.

            “Potter?” I asked, eyeing him and his disheveled state. His robes were severely wrinkled and covered in what looked like mud and soot.

            “I didn’t run into the burning building,” he started, pointing away from his body. “I ran _out and away_ from the burning building this time. I don’t think I’ve run from anything like this before.”

            “Well what did you do? You’re a right mess,” I replied.

            “I ran for help.” He huffed, out of breath. “I ran to the middle of town, shouted that there was a fire and help was needed. People went running, but I didn’t. I apparated to Auror Headquarters and notified them of the fire. These new kids went out to investigate. Draco! There were people in the building and I left! I came here, from Headquarters. I didn’t go back!”

            “Well, let me just find someone to watch Sev and we’ll go take a look. No saving anyone, just looking,” I said and he nodded. “I’m proud of you.”

            “I’m not. I feel like a coward. All of those people could be dead, because of me.”

            “And all of those people could be saved, because you got help,” I said.

            I first fire-called the Manor, but received no answer. Next I tried the Burrow. Molly Weasley answered and agreed to floo over to watch Sev. For a Weasley, she was alright. It must help that she wasn’t born a Weasley; she only married into them.

            Once Molly was here and given Sev’s basic schedule and what all needed to be done when he woke from his nap, Potter and I were off. He side-alonged me back to the site of the fire. He clearly expected to see a roaring blaze, but the fire was out and the building barely scorched. Sure there was the smell of smoke in the air and the sky was grey with soot, but it was over now.

            Potter found one of his Auror colleagues and asked, “Have the bodies been pulled out yet?”

            “What bodies? Everyone survived this one. Only two witches with smoke inhalation taken to Mungo’s; the rest walked out without injury,” the Auror answered.

            “No one died? No serious injuries?” Potter asked in disbelief.

            “Smoke inhalation is pretty serious,” the Auror replied.

            Potter chuckled. “Yeah, it is. But they’re alright?”

            “Yep, they looked like they’d be just fine. Conscious and all,” the Auror confirmed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, we’re trying to figure out how it started.”

            “Sorry, I can’t help. I’m not on duty,” Potter replied.

            “I wouldn’t’ve asked; you’re strictly desk work,” the Auror said and walked off.

            I was left there with Potter, who didn’t look exactly happy about the good news.

            “What are you feeling?” I asked, trying to keep any frustration I felt with the git to myself. It wasn’t his fault he was still sick in the head. Sure he’d been going to therapy regularly and it was helping, but this was the first time his new way of thinking had really been put to the test. Weasley’s kidnapping didn’t count, because the healers had sedated Potter before he could make the wrong decision.

            “They didn’t need me. They put out the fire and saved everyone, without me,” he answered in sort of a depressed sounding awe.

            “And you should be happy they did. Someone else was a hero today, because you stepped aside. You let someone else shine. I’m sure we’ll hear all about the stupid bravery in the morning paper. The new heroes will be all aglow with their adrenalin fixes and their chances to shine. Once can be good for people, you know. Just as long as it doesn’t keep happening and they don’t become addicted to it,” I said.

            “I’m trying…I’m trying to be happy for them,” he said, not sounding the least bit happy. He sounded jealous, anxious, and disappointed.

            “You’re worried about what the papers will write? What people will say when they find out that you ran away?” I prodded and he nodded. “But you didn’t run _away_. You ran _for help_. That’s a very brave thing to do. It’s a smart thing to do. Heroic, even.”

            “I don’t feel like a hero.”

            “Think about it this way: who would’ve put out the fire and saved the people, if _you, Harry Potter_ , hadn’t alerted everyone. Would the townspeople have gotten here in time? Would that pair of Aurors have known help was needed here?”

            “No…” he conceded.

            “And who was it who alerted everyone to the situation, notified all of the proper authorities?” I pressed.

            “I did.”

            “Now don’t you think, that because you got help, you are also one of the heroes for the day?”

            “I guess…” he answered, sounding unconvinced.

            “Well I know, so we’ll go with that. Not only are you a hero today, but you shared the glory with all of these other people, who don’t normally get a chance to play hero. That’s makes you a far better person than if you’d hogged all of the glory for yourself.”

            “If you say so.”

            “I do. I also think that things might not have turned out so well, if there was only one hero combating the blaze and saving the people all by himself. One Auror couldn’t have done all of this. One lone Auror working by himself on something this big would probably result in a tragedy. That Auror would probably be dead, along with half the people he was trying to save, and the building burned to the ground. But that didn’t happen, because that one Auror called in reinforcements. Dozens of wizards came running and two equally capable Aurors were summoned, all because that one Auror was brave enough not to do it all on his own.”

            “Yeah…” he said.

            “Yeah?” I asked.

            “Yeah, I just wish I didn’t feel so crummy about it. And the reporters will want to talk to me and I don’t feel like pretending to be happy about this.”

            “You don’t have to. We could go home. You could shower and change. That will make you feel better, I’m sure. Wouldn’t you like a nice, hot shower?”

            He nodded. We apparated home and I asked Mrs. Weasley to stay a bit longer, while Harry and I shared a shower.

            I lathered Harry’s naked body up, washing away the soot and using the task as an excuse to feel up his sexy muscles. “You never told me what you were doing in that building in the first place,” I said, running the washcloth over his abs, getting each bit of skin sparkly clean.

            “Filing paperwork,” he answered.

            “My, my, Auror Potter; can’t even file a bit of paperwork without turning into a hero,” I said as I worked.

            “I don’t feel like a hero. I feel like a coward.”

            “But you are a hero. You’re my kind of hero.” I kissed him softly on the lips. “The type of hero a Malfoy could marry.” I kissed him again, harder this time. “Will you marry me, Hero Potter?”

            “Yes,” he answered.

            “Oh good. I’d fuck you right now, but your mother figure is in our house.”

            “I’ll get rid of her.”

            “Not dressed like that,” I said, tugging on his raging erection with the washcloth. He threw his head back and moaned.

            “I’ll put clothes on.” His voice was gravelly with arousal.

            “You do that.”

            “Alright,” he said, budging me aside so he could rinse the soap off under the spray from the showerhead.

            “Just one more thing,” I said, as he stepped out of the shower and grabbed his towel.

            “Yeah?” he asked.

            “Don’t you _ever_ call my future husband a coward again. He’s not. He’s braver than you could know,” I insisted.

            He ducked his head self-consciously. “Alright,” he agreed, then went about drying himself off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m once more on the move; in Colorado at a conference this time, preparing to go back to California today. I still plan on writing more of this scene, starting with the sex, but I figured I would post what I have. I hope you like it.  
> Please review!


	33. Chapter33

            Potter directed Mrs. Weasley to take Sev to her house. Once they were gone, he came back and found me lying naked on the bed in the master suite. This was our room now, owing to the necessity of being close to the nursery.

            “What do you have there, my Love?” Harry asked, pulling his robes off as he strode towards the bed.

            “Just a little something for you,” I said, playing with the intricate gold band in my hands.

            “You mean for you?” he asked, seeing that it was a ring.

            “No, this one is for you. I asked you to marry me; you didn’t ask me. You have to wear the engagement ring with the big girly stone.”

            “No, I’ve asked you loads of times. I asked you first. You have to wear the girl ring.”

            “But I said no and you said yes, so you’re wearing my ring. It’s not that girly, I swear. See?” I held it out for him to see. Yes, it had one giant square diamond in the middle, but the setting surrounding it looked like the stone was being swallowed by a dragon. “See, I’m the dragon and you’re the diamond.”

            “And why are you eating me?” he asked, taking the ring.

            “Just your cock. The bit of the diamond that’s being swallowed is symbolic of your cock.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “Plus it looks cool. Did you want to go around for the rest of your life with a dragon kissing a cock on your ring finger?” I asked, pushing him down and demonstrating with a peck to his head.

            “I guess not. Oh…oh, Draco!” he moaned. “Draco?”  
            “Hmm?” I asked from around his cock.

            “Put it on me?”

            I came up off his cock. “Now?”

            “Yes, now.”

            “Alright. You know it’s not for your cock, right?” I asked, taking the ring from him.

            He blushed and gave me a shove. I ducked out of it and came back around to grab his left hand. “Harry James Potter, I promise to love you and your cock for the rest of our lives. Will you marry me?” I asked, sliding the ring on.

            “Yes.”

            “Good.” I pecked him on the lips. “Now let me finish sucking your cock, so we can get around to fucking, before Sev is screaming his head off for us.” Sev was okay with my mum for hours, but I’d never left him for long with Mrs. Weasley.

            “Wait,” he said.

            “What?” I asked, just shy of my prize.

            “I have a new potion to try.”

            “A potion?” I asked, flopping down on the bed as he got up.

            “To help with my…er, problem.”

            “You mean how you cum in three seconds and then take an hour to get hard again before you can fuck me?”

            “Yes.”

            “Alright, let’s give it a go, but if it doesn’t work, I want a round two,” I said.

            He located a potion, downed it, and then proceeded to fuck me until I came on that nice long shaft of his. Then he pulled out and I sucked him off.

            “Forty minutes. Looks like it worked,” I commented, nodding my head in the direction of the empty flask.

            “I’ll have to get more,” he said breathily.

            “I’ll brew it for you,” I offered.

            Another shower followed, to wash away the scent of our activity. Once we were presentable, we flooed to the Burrow.

            “Sev! Father and Daddy are here!” I called out.

            Sev, who had been grabbing for a stash of candles, turned his head to see and smiled at me. He turned back, grabbed up a candle, and then ran to me on wobbly feet. He may have been late to crawl, but he’d started walking just before a year.

            “What do you have there, Sev?”

            “Yum-yum,” Sev said, holding out the candle for me to see.

            “Not yum-yums. Candles are not good for your tummy, Sev,” I said.

            “Daddy!” Sev flung himself towards Harry, making me stumble backwards so as not to drop him.

            “Yes, Sev?” Harry asked, taking the baby from my arms.

            “Yum-yum,” Sev thrust the candle in Harry’s face.

            “No, I’m not going to eat a candle, Sev. Here, let’s give that back to Molly. That’s her candle,” Harry said, pulling the candle out of Sev’s grasp.

            Sev started crying.

            “He’s a curious lad and that candle wasn’t doing him any harm. Let him have it,” Molly said, pulling the candle away from Harry and giving it back to Sev. “He’s been playing with my things for an hour now and as long as he keeps them out of his mouth, he’s fine.”

            “I’m just worried, because he called it a yum-yum,” Harry said, while I sat down and relaxed on an old chair that really ought to have been tossed out ages ago.

            “Oh he’s just having you on, you know. I doubt he’d try to eat that,” Molly said.

            “You don’t know our Sev then,” I said.

            “Yeah, he ate some dirt and a leaf yesterday when we took him to the park,” Harry added.

            “When _you_ took him to the park. _I_ stayed home and pulled the leaf out of his throat when you apparated back,” I said.

            “Yes, well I didn’t even turn my head. He was looking straight at me when he did it,” Harry said defensively.

            “That will be little boys for you. Once they get about this age, there’s no stopping them,” Molly said.

            To prove her point, Sev used his four front teeth to bite into the candle. Then he spit it out with a, “pltthhhh,” and a cry.

            Harry moved quickly, tossing the candle away and digging in Sev’s mouth for the rest of it. I jumped up to help, prying open the baby’s mouth to see if there was any left. There were a few crumbs, which I got out.

            “No eating candles, Sev,” I said sternly, when it was over.

            “Not yum-yum,” Sev confirmed, shaking his mane of messy blond hair. He was still the spitting image of a Malfoy, if only for that hair. Being that he was only fourteen months, we had yet to cut it, but at least now it was long enough to stay in a ponytail. Mrs. Weasley must’ve taken it down for some reason.

            “You know Potter, I won’t be able to call you Potter for much longer,” I said, eyeing Harry’s ring as it glinted from the sun-light spilling in from the window.

            “Why’s that?” he asked.

            “I won the bet. Look at Sev’s eyes,” I said, pointing to the pair of blue-green eyes. They had turned quite a bit more green than they’d been the day we’d made the bet, but they were still plenty blue. Best of all, they hadn’t gotten any greener since his birthday, so I was reasonably sure they were done changing.

            “No, he’s not grown yet. They could still change,” he insisted.

            “No take backs. You lost fair and square. The bet was your idea in the first place. You have to take my name,” I insisted.

            “What’s this about?” Molly asked.

            Harry and I paused like a pair of children caught with our hands in the cookie jar.

            “Hmm, boys?” Molly pressed.

            I grabbed Potter’s left hand, holding it out so she could see the ring. “He agreed to marry me and take my last name,” I answered.

            Molly gasped, her hands going to her mouth. “Oh my!”

            “No, it’s too early to tell who won the bet. Molly, don’t you think Sev’s eyes are still turning green? Don’t you think they’ll be my shade of green in the end?” Potter asked, trying for third party support.

            “Congratulations, the both of you,” Molly said excitedly.

            “Thank you, Molly,” Potter said and hugged her. Sev being in his arms, joined in, hugging and patting her on the back. Then she reached out for me and I had to get hugged too.

            When the hugging finally stopped, Molly said, “It’s too soon to tell. They could stay like this, they could still be changing. What’s that got to do with it?”

            Potter then explained how we’d bet on the color of Sev’s eyes.

            “I think you have two choices Potter,” I said reasonably.

            “What’s that?” he asked.

            “You could wait to marry me, until you’re convinced that Sev’s eyes are done changing and are ready to admit you lost the bet.”

            “You mean wait until his eyes are my shade of green and _you_ are forced to admit _you_ lost the bet and that you have to take _my_ last name,” he interjected.

            “Not going to happen, but yes, that. Or… or, you could take your loss and marry me as is. I’m ready when you are,” I challenged. “Are you going to let fear of being a Malfoy, of having the greatest name of all time, stop you from marrying me? After all this time you’ve been waiting, begging me to marry you?”

            “You know what?” he asked in a challenging tone.

            “What?” I returned.

            “I will marry you. We are going to go ahead with planning our wedding. And when the day comes, we’ll look at Sev’s eyes, and we’ll see who wins then. Weddings take months to plan. I’ll bet that by the time it comes around, his eyes will have changed,” he said.

            “And I’ll take that bet,” I said.

            As our custom, we kissed on it. Sev joined in, giving us each loud, wet kisses on the cheek. Then we each kissed him and he laughed.

            Looking at Sev’s eyes, I knew that Potter was going down, because I so had this bet in the bag. They were still far too blue to ever be Potter green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first day in Hawaii, I started coming down with the symptoms of hand, foot, and mouth disease. At least that is what I hope it is, because bug bites, sore throats, headaches, and sweats/chills aren’t caused by particularly pleasant diseases. I’m feeling a little better today, so I was finally able to get this finished.


	34. Chapter34

            “I’m on to you Potter,” I said as I entered our bedroom that night, after putting Sev down to sleep.

            Potter, wearing only his pants, was rummaging through the laundry, pulling out pieces, folding them, putting them away, but leaving the robes, the trousers, and other things that needed ironing and hanging in the pile.

            “On to me?” he asked, pulling out two socks that matched.

            “Yes, you. I know what you’re doing,” I accused.

            “Matching socks?” he asked, holding up the pair he’d just folded together.

            “Only you would take work from an elf. No, with the bet.” I knew he’d gotten the habit of doing his own laundry when he only had Kreacher, because Kreacher would ruin his clothes. But now we had Marty and Marty was just fine with my clothes.

            “The bet?” He was still playing innocent.

            “You’re using our bet as an excuse, to take my name. You want to be a Malfoy, you just don’t want everyone to know that you want me to claim you, mark you as mine, give you my name.”

            He looked away, refusing to make eye contact. “I should probably check on Sev.”

            “He’s asleep. I’m right, aren’t I? You want to be Harry James Malfoy for all the world to see; you just don’t want to tell them it was your choice,” I pressed, snatching the socks from him, throwing them in the drawer, and invading his personal space with my body. There was a reason he’d proposed a bet he couldn’t possibly win as the way to determine whose name we took.

            “Maybe,” he admitted, still not making eye contact, although his hands were holding me now, on my upper arms.

            “You want them to think I tricked you into taking my name, so they don’t blame you for giving up the Potter one. Why?”

            “I’m the last Potter,” he admitted.

            “And you don’t want it to be your fault that there aren’t any more Potters. But you don’t want to be a Potter anymore, I know you. You’re tired of being the savior; that’s why you don’t want to be a Potter, why you’ve never asked for our children to be Potters.”

            “I never wanted to be called that!” he exclaimed, the truth coming out. He hated when people called him the Savior of the Wizarding World, even more than he hated being called The Chosen One.

            “It’s okay to give it up. It’s a burden that you shouldn’t have to carry any longer. It’s your choice what name you bear. If you need to use me as an excuse to stop carrying it, it’s fine with me,” I said in a reassuring tone.

            “You don’t mind?” he asked.

            “No, I don’t. But, I want you to think long and hard about this. If it’s a burden you just need a little help carrying, as your husband, it’ll be my duty to help you carry it.”

            “No. No, I don’t want that. What I want, is to be a Malfoy. I’m done carrying that name. I made my father proud. His name will be in the history books until the end of time. I’m ready to stop being the savior and go back to just being Harry.”

            “You were ready for that all along, weren’t you? To stop risking your life. That’s why you agreed to counseling. You didn’t just do it for me and Sev, you did it because you were tired of waking up in all those hospital beds. You were tired of nearly getting killed all the time; you just didn’t know how to stop,” I said.

            “It was addicting,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

            That was all the explanation he needed to give. He’d been an addict, slave to a very dangerous drug, but he had beaten it. He’d been faced with a chance to run into a burning building today, single handedly pull people to safety, and get high on adrenaline in the process. Right there in front of him he had the means to satisfy his saving people addiction. And he didn’t do it. He went for help instead. He’d overcome it. Sure the urges to play the hero and ramp up the adrenaline would always be there and he’d always have to work to do what came naturally to so many others, to walk away, but he was committed and in therapy and he was making progress. I was proud of him.

 

* * *

 

 

            “I suppose you will be asking Granger and Weasley to stand up for you?” I asked late at night as Potter and I lay cuddled in bed together discussing wedding plans.

            “Yes. Do you have a problem with that?” Potter asked.

            “No, you can ask him. I’ll behave.”

            “Good. I suppose you’ll have a dozen former Slytherins standing up for you?” he asked.

            “No. I considered asking Blaise for a moment, but then I decided against it. I’m thinking I’ll just ask Greg to do it alone. Vince is irreplaceable and I don’t want someone taking his place,” I said.

            “I know how you feel. They all are irreplaceable,” he said.

            I leaned in and kissed him for saying that and implying that my friend, despite the unfortunate circumstances of his death, was as valuable as all the great many heroes Potter has lost. Vince could never measure up to Potter’s parents, or godfather, or a thousand others who had died because of the Dark Lord; his death would never be commemorated. I knew no one else would ever care that one of my two best friends was gone, but Greg and I cared and because I cared, Potter cared. That meant a lot to me.

            “Your parents will be there in spirit,” I said.

            “You think so?” he asked, unsure.

            “I know so. They all will,” I insisted.

            He covered my hand with his own and smiled at me. “Are you sure about Ron? It’s okay if you’re not. He could sit at the back and not make trouble,” he said.

            “No, he’s your best friend. He should be by your side. You don’t have to worry about trouble from me. I will be keeping my mouth shut, no matter what he says or does,” I insisted.

            “But it’s your wedding,” he started, but I cut him off.

            “It’s your wedding too. What I want for _our_ wedding is for both of our friends and family to be there and that includes Weasley. If he’s not on board, I know his mother and his wife. I’m sure they can control him,” I insisted, picturing them each taking Weasley by an ear.

            “That they can,” he confirmed with another smile and a yawn. “Alright, it’s settled then. I’ll ask Ron and Hermione tomorrow.”

            “Good. Now be quiet, because I’m tired and want to go to sleep.”

            With that, I closed my eyes and snuggled into him. He pulled me tighter and whispered into my ear, “Sweet dreams, my Love.” After all this time, he was still a sap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the wedding would go, if I were to write it. But I’ve already written too many Harry/Draco weddings, so I am going to skip it. Feel free to image whatever sort of wedding you wish for them. This is also where the story would have ended entirely, except I have 3 extra chapters. Next I will be skipping ahead to when it gets exciting again.


	35. Chapter35

            “Draco, I need to talk to you about something. Could you sit down a second,” Harry said, entering our drawing room at Grimmauld Place.

            We still lived here, after all this time. It was nine years later. We’d been happily married for eight of those years. He’d taken my last name, forcing me to abandon my beloved pet name for him. Sometimes I still called him Potter in the bedroom, but now it was the sort of intimate name that’s embarrassing when other people hear it, like snookums or sweetie pie. It was a name only I could still call him, because he was mine. But most of the time he was Harry, just Harry.

            “What is it? I just caught Lily nicking Sev’s broom to fly up into the attic, where I hid her paints. Do you know what’s going to happen to her room when she gets them?” I asked, hands filled with a toy train, a sock, a pair of dirty knickers with flowers on them, and two shoes that did not match.

            When had I turned into a house elf, you ask? Right around the time Kreacher died. You see, years ago Harry purchased Kreacher’s barmy wife who was utterly useless and nutty to boot. It took all of Kreacher’s time to look after her. We bought a fourth elf soon after the third, but since she was to marry Marty, Harry insisted we let Marty pick her. Well Marty picked a wife who wanted lots of little elf children; makes endless fun for Sev and Lily when the new baby elf finally comes out of seclusion. However, during that time the new mum is also in seclusion, it leaves us with just Marty. Marty was not enough elf to deal with my family and Kreacher’s still living barmy widow. Barty, Marty’s oldest, was running around trying to learn how to be a house elf, but the little guy was more nuisance than help, especially because he didn’t even come to my knees, so I could never see him until I was tripping over him. No one else in the house had as much trouble with Barty as I did, owing to the fact everyone else was half a head or more shorter than me. So one else thought we needed an elf to watch our toddler elf or realized how much crap our human children left all over the place.

            “Paint all over the walls in an artistic representation of chaos?” Harry asked.

            “Yes, so if you’ll just let me deal with this mess, I can go back to check on Lily, to see what new adventure she has planned to nick the paints. Then Sev’s been begging me to help him with his chemistry set. You know that if I don’t do it tonight, he’ll start without me. And you do remember what his room looks like when he’s been playing with that thing without supervision, don’t you?” I asked, arms getting tired from the load.

            “Yes, I remember the explosion. Here, let me help you with some of that,” Harry said, pulling out the shoes from the pile. He tossed the shoes down the stairwell in the direction of the landing, where the shoes ought to be. No doubt the shoes stopped short of their intended destination and would trip the next person to venture down that way. Not to mention that they’d probably never find their proper mates.

            Then Harry pulled out the flower knickers from the pile and asked, “If these are here, what is our darling Lily wearing?”

            “A very interesting question. I do hope her naked phase isn’t back,” I said, shuffling over to one of the toyboxes and depositing the train.

            “I don’t think it is. I hope it isn’t. But, judging by the smell of these things,” he brought them up to his nose for another sniff and gagged, “I’d say she just wanted a clean pair.”

            “Skid marks?” I asked. Lily was five. Skid marks were part of life, even for dainty little monkeys like her.

            “Yep,” he confirmed.

            “Nothing too foul? She’s not sick, is she?” I asked concerned. Harry had been sick a few days now—vomited three times that I knew of in the last two days—and I was worried it was spreading.

            “No, no I don’t think she’s caught anything. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about, if you could just sit down a moment,” he said, taking the remaining sock out of my hands, balling it up with Lily’s soiled knickers, and tossing them towards the door, where they landed not all that far from where I’d picked them up minutes ago.

            In his defense, he might have been aiming for the loo down the hall, where a laundry basket was located. Or, he might’ve been attempting to leave them somewhere obvious for Marty to grab. Or maybe he was training Barty and this was some new lesson I didn’t know about. But odds were fairly good that he was just one more cog in the machinations that was my messy family. There was a source for the natural disasters named Severus and Lily Malfoy and that source was my dear husband.

            “Make it quick,” I conceded, allowing myself to be sat down on the sofa.

            Harry sat next to me, angling his body to face mine, and taking my hand. “You know how I’ve been throwing up, right?”

            “Yes, that’s what we’re talking about. Did you see Healer Jepson then?” I asked.

            “No, not him. I’m not sick, I’m pregnant.” He just dropped it on me, like a bomb, out of nowhere, no warning.

             “Harry, you can’t be pregnant. You’ve just got the stomach flu or something,” I said rationally. Was the insanity spreading?

            “No, no, I don’t have the stomach flu, I’m sure. I did see a healer today. I’m pregnant. Healer Barns confirmed it.”

            “How can you be pregnant? If we had an accident, I’d be the one puking my guts out. You’re the one who buggers me and I’m not sick, so no one is pregnant,” I explained simply, as if talking to a child.

            “I am pregnant, Draco. You see, sometimes after you go to sleep, I scoop up the pile of spunk you so kindly leave for me to sleep in when you make me take the wet side,” he started.

            “You leave me with a wet spot in my bum. It’s a fair exchange, you taking the wet spot on the sheets,” I interjected.

            “Yes, I know. But still, sometimes I scoop it up, play with it in my fingers, and recently I started pressing it into my bum. Your spunk, in my bum.”

            “That’s only half. I suppose now you are going to tell me that your spunk happened to be mixed in with mine and that did it. Although why you would be putting my spunk in your bum in the first place makes absolutely no sense,” I said, feeling like I was over at the Weasley’s place and listening to the explanations those children give for their absurd behavior. Especially little Hugo; that kid was wild.

            “Well you like having your bum—arse—I’m so used to talking to the children that I can’t stop. Your arse; you like having it played with so much and it looked like fun, so I wanted to try it. I’ve tried to get you to experiment with me, but you always refuse. ‘I’m not fucking your arse, Potter.’”

            “Well we don’t need two bottoms and you’re brilliant at topping,” I repeated my standard explanation. It was true. Why mess with a good thing?

            “It’s okay; it sort of hurts too much anyway. I don’t know how that could possibly feel good to you.”

            I sighed, not about to demonstrate and turn my perfectly good top of a husband into a bottom. “Okay, so you played with yourself once or twice with the spunk on our bedsheets for lube and now you’re pregnant. Is that what you’re telling me?” I asked leveling a stern stare at him, as if he was one of the children telling me one of their ridiculous yarns. This was on the level on nonsense he hadn’t gotten into since he was a child himself. This was more unbelievable than that time he ran into an empty burning building and was saved by a crup.

            “No. I’m telling you I started by putting your spunk in me. Then I went to the loo, rubbed one out, and put _my_ spunk in me too. Then I had both of our, you know, inside of my arse,” he explained, like I was the dumb kid now.

            “And because you’re you, you just happened to also be innately male fertile and it took on the first time,” I concluded.

            “No, as a matter of fact, it didn’t take. I kept doing it, but month after month, nothing happened.”

            “Why would you even do it in the first place? We have _two_ kids. You know what happens when you do that!” It was beginning to sink in that maybe he really was pregnant. Maybe the impossible really was happening to him, again.

            “Yes, I know. That’s why I did it.”

            “But we agreed that two children were enough. Salazar, Sev is ten. Next year he’ll be elven and then off to Hogwarts. Lily is five. She just started Kindergarten. I’m _finally_ free. We talked about this: no more children.”

            “You said no more children. I said I wanted another. You said no, you didn’t want to do it all again. You said you wanted to go back to work fulltime. You said you had enough on your plate. I said I wanted one more. I offered to carry this one, but you wouldn’t consider it. I offered to stay home with this one, but you said that made no sense, because you were the one carrying. I wanted to take a few years off work, because I’m burned out and want to spend time with our family, and you said maybe and suggested I find a more fulfilling career. You decided to make Sev without consulting me. I did the same to you. You’re welcome. Now I can quit my job. Now I can stay home fulltime with the kids. Now I can have my turn to be pregnant. Now I get the third child I’ve wanted from the beginning.”

            “You planned this?” I asked. I wasn’t really accusing him, as much as I was in disbelief.

            “Yes, I did. I deliberately inseminated myself. When that didn’t work, I apparated to France, found an apothecary, purchased a male pregnancy potion and a fertility potion to boot. I took the male pregnancy one right away and hid the fertility one until the allotted time required for the male pregnancy one to take effect. You remember how sore and tired I was all the time a few months ago? How we never found out what was wrong, but it just went away on its own?”

            “Yes…” I did remember. I’d thought he’d gotten himself hurt and wasn’t telling me, because he didn’t want me to know he’d done something stupid or reckless or dangerous. I trusted him not to try to get himself killed; he was in recovery from his saving people thing, I knew he was. But, he was still friends with Weasley and those Gryffindors and those Aurors and they sometimes went out drinking together. I figured that odds were someone had said something that he found offensive and he’d gotten into a fight over it. A punch to the gut or two would cause the sort of pain he was describing. I had other worries with the elf being pregnant and my returning to brewing fulltime and he was a grown wizard, so I didn’t pressure him about what he’d gotten up to with his friends.

            “Well that was the male pregnancy potion building me the appropriate organs I needed. Were you ever in pain like that back before you got pregnant with Sev? Back when you were brewing the stuff?” he asked.

            “No, no, nothing. There was nothing like that. It never felt like a punch to the gut or anything like you were describing.”

            “I think you really were naturally male fertile. I wasn’t. I needed the potion. Then I took a fertility potion to make sure it took this time. I only inseminated myself once after that. That was three weeks ago. So when I started feeling sick, I was hoping it had finally taken. I was pretty sure when I started vomiting, but it was too soon. I didn’t think I’d be sick inside a month, but I am. I threw up a few times I didn’t tell you about, because I wasn’t ready to tell you what I’d done,” he concluded. Then he sat there looking at me, waiting for me to respond.

            “Okay…So you’re pregnant. You saw Healer Barns, you said? She confirmed it?” I was trying to get the facts straight in my head. This news was just so out of nowhere.

            “Yes. She confirmed that the development of the embryo is in line with a conception three weeks ago.”

            “And I was asleep during this conception?”

            “Yes. Are you mad?” he asked, looking worried.

            “No…I’m more shocked. Yeah, shocked is a good word for it.”

            “Do you want this baby?”

            “Do you want it?”

            “Yes,” he said, his hand dipping down to his nonexistence belly for the first time.

            I reached over and put my hand on top of his, in a sign of support. “As your loving husband, I want what you want. I…um…well I just wish you’d explained how much you wanted this to me before. I know I was busy and stressed and it generally has not been a good time for me to hear it, but if it means so much to you, then I will make time. Oh shit…” I trailed off.

            “What? What is it? Did you hear something from the kids’ rooms?” he asked, standing up and looking concerned.

            “No, it just occurred to me that we are going to have three children soon. We are going to start all over with a baby again. We are going to have one in Hogwarts, one in primary school, and one in nappies.”

            “Yes,” he confirmed. “But this time, I’m going to be the one at home dealing with it and you are going to be the one who gets to floo away every morning to a place of peace and tranquility.”

            “At least there’s that,” I conceded.

            “But really, don’t you think the kids are being too quiet?” he asked, still standing.

            I jumped up immediately, ears perked for wherever trouble was about to come from. Harry was pregnant, so it was my duty to discover whatever our offspring were up to and make sure it wouldn’t endanger him and our embryo.

            I dashed up the stairs and flung open doors on the third floor. Finding no one, I went up another two levels. I flung open the doors on the fifth floor as I ran towards the attic, sure they were up in the attic again, when I heard them. I stopped, turned around, and headed into the green bedroom on the fifth floor. There were just two bedrooms up here with slanting roofs and both had been preserved with all the artifacts of their previous owner. The red one Harry was obsessed with, because it had belonged to his godfather. The green one had belonged to his godfather’s brother, a second cousin of mine who I’d never met and whose name I couldn’t recall at the moment.

            “What are you two doing up here?” I asked.

            “Playing with this old game we found. Look, it’s sort of like Quidditch and sort of like wizard’s chess,” Sev explained, showing me the board with all of the flying pieces. He kept his uncontrollable blond hair down his back, because braiding it was the only way he could manage it. His eye were still the blue/green they’d been when I’d married Harry. And he was now a very inquisitive, active child who got into as many adventures as he could.

            “And you two are getting along? No fighting?” I asked skeptically.

            “Yep! Sev and I are s’ploring. He’s got it all fi’ured out,” Lily said too quickly, missing some of the consonants in her rush, as usual. She had the same bright green eyes as Harry paired with my blond hair. Thank Salazar, her hair wasn’t just my color, but my texture too. I could brush and style is inside of five minutes. And well, with a child as active and rambunctious as my Lily, five minutes was all I got to put it up in a ponytail before she was off again, getting into something.

            “And what were the two of you doing up here in the first place?” I asked.

            “Well I was up here looking for potion ingredients and Lily was trying to figure out how to scale the doorway in order to leap onto the string that pulls down the ladder to the attic. She was _almost_ there, seriously, like a monkey, just clinging to the top of the doorframe reaching over. If her arms were longer, I think she could’ve managed it,” Sev said, as if he hadn’t been just as bad when he was five. Well he hadn’t climbed the doorframes…

            “Can I see how you climb doorframes, Lily?” I asked. Not because I wanted to encourage it, but because I wanted to confirm it. If there was some object she was scaling to get up there, I was going to remove it.

            “Alright Father! I’ll show you!” Lily exclaimed, jumping up and running to the doorway. “Like Dis!” She proceeded to lean against the frame with her back and stretch out her feet, until her body was wedged between the narrow old doorway. She reached behind her, gripping the frame in back of her with her little fingers. “Ugh!” Then she lunged up, kicking her feet out, and came to rest about an inch off the ground. This process was repeated until my five year old was indeed dangling from the top of the frame and swinging her body back and forth, as if she might grab the string to the attic with her toes.

            I pulled out my wand and severed the string. Then I grabbed hold of my daughter by her legs, saying, “Sorry Lils. No attic for you. We’re going to have to tell your daddy about your new talent.”

            “Alright. Do you dink he’ll like it?” she asked.

            I looked behind me. “Come on, Sev, you too. You can bring the game if you’d like,” I said to my son as I walked to the stairs. “And yes, Lil, Daddy and I love everything you do. We just don’t think the attic is safe for little monkey lilies like you.”

            “I’m not a monkey lily. You’re a monkey lily,” she said, her quick arms darting out to tickle me.

            I loved her beyond limit, but I didn’t know if I could handle another.

            I ran into Harry on the stairs, the sight of her daddy causing Lily to stop tickling me. “Harry, can I make a request for a quiet one? You know, one of those kids who never does anything, just sits still and plays with their dolls or cars or blocks or something. I don’t care what, as long as the next one doesn’t climb doorjambs too.”

            “Climb doorjambs too? What are you talking about? That’s impossible,” Harry said, joining me now as I descended the stairs with Lily.

            I could hear Sev packing up pieces behind me, so I was reasonably certain he was on his way.

            “’S not! I kin do it, Daddy! I’ll show you!” Lily exclaimed excitedly, bouncing her weight around in my arms.

            “We’ll do our demonstration in your room, my monkey lily. It’s getting late,” I said.

            Harry looked at his watch. “Um, Draco, it’s actually not that late,” he said.

            I groaned. This day felt like it had gone on forever and it wasn’t even quite seven. “Well I’d like to go to sleep early tonight. Remember when I’d had a rough day and I could just crawl into bed and rest?”

            “That was so long ago I can’t quite picture it,” he said.

            “You’re silly, Father,” Lily said.

            “So are you, my monkey lily,” I replied to my daughter, before looking to my husband. “When are we going to tell them your big news?”

            “Not now. We’ll talk about it later,” he said.

            This time I sighed in relief, because the last thing I wanted to do at the moment was to tell my two children that they were about to be three children. “And my request? I quiet one?” I prodded.

            “I can’t really guarantee something like that,” he said.

            “Humor me and try. _Will_ this one to be peaceful. Granger was spouting that new-aged holistic stuff when she was pregnant, wasn’t she? It’s all about willing the fetus into greatness before it’s even born,” I said.

            “And look how that turned out: Hugo,” he replied.

            That one name was enough to make me cringe. “Don’t imbibe ours with _any_ of the aura she did hers. Just peace and tranquility and quiet and calm,” I directed. “Not so much greatness.”

            “Whadder ya talking about?” Lily asked as we reached her room.

            “Oh nothing,” Harry told her.

            “Boring Daddy and Father things,” I verified. It wasn’t true, but we were a team, united on what we told our children. If he was lying, I was lying too. If he was having a third child, I was having a third one too. That’s sort of how marriage works. And well I’d made plenty of decisions over the years he’d gone along with without me asking him, like when I decided we weren’t the type of family with convenient strings to pull on to make our attic stairs come down. In fact, by this point I’d forgotten about that and he wouldn’t find out until Lily’s next attempt to get the paint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I thought it would be fun if Harry turned around and did to Draco what Draco did to him. What do you think?  
> Please Review!


	36. Chapter36

            “I don’t mean to worry the two of you, but don’t you think Scorp’s development is a bit…slow?” Hermione asked.

            We’d gone to visit the Weasley family after work one evening to show off Scorp’s first pair of glasses; we had to go to them, because Ronald Weasley was not allowed to know the secret to our place ever since Harry gifted me with a new Fidelius as a wedding present.

            Harry had grown tired of his stay-at-home parenting and begged me to quit my job and stay home with the baby, so he could go back to work. So as of September first, I was once again the stay-at-home parent. Shortly thereafter, I began to suspect Scorp’s vision wasn’t what it should be. I’d made an appointment, proving my suspicions correct, and today I’d picked up the glasses. The little round frames seemed to accentuate the facial similarities this child shared with my husband. The first two looked like me, but number three was the spitting image of Harry, especially once the glasses were in place.

            That’s why I was expecting a gathering where Harry’s friends said things like, “Awwwwwwwww, he’s sooo cute, Draco!” or “Excellent job picking out those glasses, Draco, they’re perfect!” or “I wish our two horrible children were as perfect and bespeckled as yours, instead of the horrible, terrors they are.” But no, neither Granger nor Weasley said any of that. Instead they ask if my perfect son had something wrong with him, because he wasn’t mentally challenged like Hugo.

            Harry had given birth to our third child, a boy named Scorpius James Malfoy, just over a year ago. Scorp had tame black hair, light blue-gray eyes, and was on the small side for his age. He was also the quiet, calm child I’d asked for. I was very pleased with the fact that I finally had a baby who was fine sitting in one spot and playing quietly for hours, despite the chaos of Sev and Lily all around him. Even when Sev had gone off to Hogwarts and Lily had decided Scorp was going to be her new play thing, Scorp had my back, refusing to do much more than sit on his bum and babble nonsense at his sister.

            We’d had a birthday party for Scorp last month, just before Sev went away. It was like one last crazy day before the calm. I missed Sev dearly, often feeling out of sorts when I found the house too quiet. But it was never too quiet for long, because then Hurricane Lily would blow in and I’d be praising Scorp for how wonderful he was for not taking after his brother and sister and hoping he stayed this way forever.

            “Yeah, he’s _way_ behind. Remember how Hugo was at that age?” Weasley asked.

            At that, I got up and punched Weasley in the face. The soft arse went flying back, apparently not expecting this response from me. Hugo was a demon at this age and I was pissed beyond belief that he would suggest my son didn’t measure up to his demon.

            Then I turned to Granger, “Don’t you dare suggest that there is anything wrong with _my son_ again! Especially do not compare my Scorpius to your Hugo. There is no comparison. I don’t care if Scorp doesn’t walk; I don’t want him to. I don’t care if he doesn’t crawl. He can sit there and be happy, which is more than any other baby can. This may be hard for the two of you to understand, but I actually _begged_ Harry for a child just like this one. I _love_ him this way. We did your holistic willing the fetus to be what you want it to be thing, same as you, but in our case, we got precisely what we wished for. Looking at Hugo, however, has me questioning what the fuck did you imbibe him with? He’s literally the opposite of what I consider my ideal child. And now that I’m once again in charge of staying at home, the only person whose opinion matters, should be mine. The rest of you can fuck off if you have a problem with it or my son.”

            “Draco, don’t you think you could say that a little nicer to my friends? Did you have to punch Ron?” Harry asked.

            “Yes, I did. What Weasley said was uncalled for. What right does he, father of the notorious Hugo, have to say anything to me? Not only is he not quiet, but he doesn’t seem all that smart either. If that’s what greatness is, I am glad we decided not to put any in our baby,” I said to Harry.

            “Okay, I will admit I started freaking out when Hermione started channeling supreme intellect and leadership skills and whatnot and I did imbibe Hugo with bravery, a sense of adventure, and a fun-loving spirit. I just wanted my kid to be a bit of fun, in addition to great. The fun stuff is just sort of taking over, because he’s a kid. He’s only five. The greatness and intelligence will come later,” Weasley said.

            I seriously doubted that. Hugo had started school this year and immediately the teacher had requested that the kid be tested for special needs. Turns out he wasn’t just ADD, but borderline autistic, and dyslexic. As a result, he was behind the other kids, especially when it came to learning to read and write. Maybe Weasley and Granger specified so many traits that there was no room for anything they left out, like proper social skills and not having dyslexia. We didn’t specify those things with our Scorp either, but I was reasonably certain he’d come with them, just like most kids did.

            “Scorp is only one. Whatever you think he should be doing, like walking, he’ll pick up eventually,” I said.

            “But Draco, if he’s not going to walk or crawl, then he should be talking,” Granger said, like an annoying know-it-all.

            “Yeah, I’m really worried he isn’t talking more. Remember how much Lily and Sev talked at this age?” Harry asked.

            “Yes, I do, because if you’ll recall, I was the one home with them all day. So I know that they both said about the same number of things as Scorp. Scorp is just quiet about saying them and only when it’s necessary. There may not be any of the screaming out words in order to get attention, but that’s not what I wanted. Trust me, I’ve been home with him for a month now: Scorp is just where he should be developmentally. Advanced even. Have you seen how he manipulates those blocks? Building towers at his age? And getting all the shapes through the proper holes in the sorter too? Could any of your kids do that at one?” The last I asked to the Weasleys, pointing to where our Scorp was indeed correctly inserting shapes into his shape sorter; faster now that he could see. Why on Earth had this gathering not been about praising me for being the world’s best father for getting those glasses?

            “Rose was very bright. She figured it out at two,” Granger said, leaving out that Hugo still had yet to master it, mostly because he refused to sit still long enough to try.

            “He’ll even out eventually. They all do, right Draco?” Harry asked me, looking for reassurance.

            “Yes, especially now that he can see with those stylish new glasses I picked out,” I said, again hinting at where I should be praised. They didn’t get it, the plebeians, so after a moment I continued. “If he was a bit slow to move, it might’ve been that he couldn’t see.”

            “They are nice glasses,” Granger _finally_ said.

            “Nice, they’re awesome! They’re just like mine,” Harry said, pulling his off to compare. He did fail to mention in front of his friends what an excellent job of it I’d done, but he wasn’t perfect.

            I smiled at Harry and gave him a nudge. Then the conversation ended when a loud bang reverberated through the house and it became apparent that Lily and Hugo were no longer in the room with us.

            “Where’s your brother?” Hermione asked Rose, who was playing with Scorp, handing over the shapes and watching Scorp insert them into the correct holes.

            “How would I know?” Rose asked indignantly and went back to what she was doing.

            I sent Harry off to save our daughter and Weasley went with him, still rubbing his jaw from where I’d hit him. The disaster was such that I insisted on leaving, to punish the monsters responsible for creating it.

            Only later, did I finally get Harry to praise my actions leading up to Scorp getting the most perfect pair of glasses and restoring our son’s sight. Took him long enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left. I do think Hugo will end up being great one day, but the most successful are often not at the top of their class in school.
> 
> On another not, I started a new story called Draco Malfoy, Painter


	37. Chapter37

            “First he skips a grade, Draco, and now this? A genius?” Granger asked, looking at a letter from the Imbibe Your Child With Greatness people and comparing it to a school report. “You have to let them use him. His scores are the highest so far. It proves their method works!”

            “But we didn’t imbibe him with greatness or geniusness, he just is. We imbibed him-”, she cut me off here.

            “With peace and quiet, yes, so you’ve said. But still, he’s exceptional, Draco, truly he is. He’s smarter than my Rose—his scores are just so much higher—and that’s with skipping a grade in addition to being born just before the cut-off date,” this was meant literally, because he was born the day before the cut-off, “making him a good eighteen months younger than Rose when she took this test.” Finally Granger admitted what I’d known for years: my children were better than hers and my Scorp was smarter than her Rose. Vindication felt nice.

            “Well yes, there is no denying that my Scorp is a genius. I’ll even give you that he’s greater than all the other kids whose parents followed the imbibing mantra. But, we didn’t follow the mantra to the letter. We took the concept and employed it to our own liking. It wouldn’t be right to give them these results for them to publish and lure other unsuspecting parents in. They’ll see Scorp, buy the book, and think that their unborn child will turn out just like him, when in fact the instructions in the book produce children like Hugo,” I said.

            Hugo was now in the special needs class at his school and still struggled to read. Between his dyslexia and his ADD, it was bad enough. But then they diagnosed him with an average IQ of only one hundred. Granger had been so concerned she had herself and Weasley examined too, which was hilarious, because Weasley turned out to have just the littlest bit of ADD and autism, with a lot dyslexic, and had an IQ of ninety-five, which was five points below average. I made fun of Weasley for months. Here Hermione was trying to make a new level of genius, but she was flummoxed by Weasley’s genes.

            “But it obviously didn’t work right with Hugo. He’s not a good example, because of Ron,” Granger insisted.

            “And Scorp isn’t a good example because Harry and I didn’t follow directions. If they want to re-write their book and recommend that everyone imbibe their fetuses with only peace, quiet, and tranquility, then okay, I’d consider letting them use Scorp as an example. But really, he is only a datum of one. They need more than just him to be able to say anything about the modified version of the method Harry and I used,” I insisted.

            Granger was silent in thought for a minute. Then she stuck her index finger out in the air and said, “You know something, Draco? I think you’re right. They ought to investigate the traits you used. You never imbibed any greatness or intelligence, did you?”

            “Not a lick. I told Harry the first two were smart enough on their own and if I had to have another great child I was going to go crazy. All I wanted was a nice, quiet child who could play by himself.”

            “But maybe there’s something in it! Don’t you see? Maybe imbibing a fetus with peace and tranquility encouraged brain development!”

            “And this from the witch who thought there was something wrong with my baby. Three years later and you’ve really changed your tune,” I commented with a smirk.

            It was nice to be proven right. My child was still quiet and mostly inactive, but he had eventually learned to walk, completely skipping crawling. He may have been a bit late on the physical stuff, but by two he was talking in complete sentences and by three he’d mastered all of the skills they taught at his pre-school. Then at four he’d past the test for early admittance into Kindergarten and quickly become the smartest child in the class. That had caused the teacher to request that he be tested and the resulting scores had them talking about advanced programs and placement. I’d refused them for now, on the basis that I wanted Scorp to make friends and enjoy school before the pressure to succeed was dumped on him. I didn’t want to pressure him at all. If he was bored in the regular classes and asked to be moved up, then okay, but as long as he was happy, I wasn’t going to mess him up by trying to imbibe greatness into him. That’s how Granger ended up with Hugo.

            Granger proceeded to apologize for being a complete arse three years ago. I didn’t accept until she admitted that she had no right judging other people’s babies, mostly because she had no idea what she was talking about. Hugo, who had mastered every physical challenge super early and Rose, who was just a tad early on the physical stuff but also talked up a storm from the beginning, were not the gold standards with which babies ought to be measured. Not even Lily and Sev, who were both smart and coordinated, were more than your typical above average children.

            Finally we came to the agreement that Granger could write the Greatness people herself and tell them about my story if she really wanted to. And, she was also free to convince her pregnant friend to try my method and see if the child turned out as well as my Scorp.

            “I should warn you that I don’t suspect it was the imbibing that did it. I think it’s the Malfoy genes for exceptional intelligence. There is no passing those along to the masses. Witches who marry wizards like Weasley will get a Hugo if they’re going to get a Hugo and there’s nothing that can be done to change it,” I said, ending the discussion.

            Granger left my house that day determined to prove me wrong. First she got a witch by the name of Luna Lovegood to imbibe her twin fetuses with peace and tranquility, resulting in another two unusually subdued and quiet babies. She correctly assumed that those children too were geniuses and used the Lovegood example to get the leader of the Greatness movement to try my technique. At that point, a dozen pregnant witches, including a Weasley cousin, all tried it, producing the same result.

            I was skeptical at first, because what had they done besides fill the world with quiet babies? But, by the time Scorp went off to Hogwarts and became the first Malfoy ever to sort into Ravenclaw, it was clear that the Lovegood twins were geniuses as was that one Weasley. A genius Weasley was unusual enough that it couldn’t be coincidence. In fact, as the years progressed, more and more children were imbibed with peace and tranquility and nine out of every ten turned out to be a genius. None of them turned out to be terrors like Hugo, although one out of ten was only average or slightly above average. And since Harry Potter had pioneered the technique, it began to spread, overrunning the wizarding world with geniuses. Maybe now people wouldn’t be so terminally stupid.

            As for Harry and I, we were as strong as ever. It was rough having all three of our children out of the house. Sev came home from Hogwarts before Scorp went off, but then Sev decided as the Malfoy heir, he really should live at Malfoy Manor. His grandparents were happy, gloating even, to have him, so once Scorp left, Harry and I were left with an empty nest. To cope, we invited ourselves over to dinner at the Manor almost every night so that we might converse with our oldest. And we started taking up old people hobbies, like traveling all over the world.

            We came across a lot of dangerous situations in our travels. I am happy to report that Harry never took it upon himself to endanger his life; he became especially careful after being pregnant with Scorp, likely because having our child living inside him finally made him realize how necessary his life was to the rest of us, and that carefulness never left him. Now he was always the first to go for help, often before others realized what was wrong, which meant he ended up saving a lot of lives that way, including his own. He turned out to be a decent, _living_ husband, which was all I ever wanted from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s all.  
> I’ve started writing a new story called Draco Malfoy, Painter. In it, Draco is a brilliant artist who has painted some really great works of Harry. Harry isn’t pleased, but the paintings do allow him to see another side of Draco, because Draco is in most of the paintings with Harry.   
> I’m also working on an idea for another new story in which Delphini from the latest novel is adopted by the Malfoys. I haven’t decided yet where I want to go with that, other than it will also be Drarry slash. I might start posting it soon, so keep an eye out!


End file.
